Someone asked,
Do you think he might’ve lived longer
if you hadn’t left him?

I didn’t say,
That’s the million-dollar question,
isn’t it?

I didn’t say,
Hmmm… I never thought of that,
not once

in the 23 years since he died
alone in the house he rented
in a small town

40 miles away from me.
No one has asked,
Were you happier

living separately? Never
divorcing because you felt
like family?

Just the unanswerable:
Would he be alive today
if you hadn’t…?

And as hot guilt creeps up
my skull, I feel him next to me,
as he often shows up,

hovering by my right shoulder,
not speaking, just smiling his
sweet smile,

bearded, as he was for so
many years, silently urging
me to look into his

soft olive eyes, where I will
see what he always gave me—
nothing but forgiveness,

nothing, in fact, but
You did good, Toots.
And I believe him.