Today I saw a few of her hairs,
still curled in loopy figure eights on
the bathroom floor,
and I sobbed into the sink.

I remember the sparkle of her
crystallized blue eyes
as she sang the words of
Jimi Hendrix and
the Beatles
while she stirred a pot
of spaghetti.

I remember her kicking
the dishwasher
as it failed yet again
to wash our few dishes.
Honey, come on, I said,
let it be.
You laughed at that.
I was hardly a Beatles fan.

I remember how her hair
long and brown
had golden facets hidden
that caught the sunlight
and threw it back to me.

I would catch it,
store it in my heart,
and pull it out again
during your last dark days.

How I wish
I hadn't been so selfish.
Why didn't I share it with you?

Could I have saved you?