on the floor at the great divide

four years now and I still want to apologize
for being a little bit snippy whatever I said
when she knocked on the bathroom door,
I was putting on deodorant, throwing my shirt on,
a bit tired, can't remember if I'd just woken up
or I'd gotten breakfast a little bit ago,
maybe part of me was still afraid she'd snap at me again
for getting up so late, some time past nine,
tell me that I wasn't doing enough around the house, 
made her feel like she was busting her ass off 
for no reason, it was a whole thing,
but nah, none of that, surprise! 
her in black, thin jacket on, holding a purse, eyes red,
just got the call, grandpa's dead.
----
I wonder if I should call her tonight of all nights,
I wonder if she'd be able to figure out why
or if I should just tell her, I don't know
if I want her to relive any of that, you know?
and I don't know if it's healthy of me to hang on
to all the little threads of that moment 
I can still piece together from everything I've written
and all the pictures I took, hell, I can even go
and look at my youtube search history for that day
and watch myself flail around trying to find Something
to capture my feelings, pay homage to him, begin
to make sense of it all, I'm still trying to really,
but I always end up right back there 
sitting on the bathroom floor
hands against the tile staring up at the mirror
going wow, oh god, wow, wow, oh god, god,
maybe it'll never make sense, maybe it just happened
and it'll keep happening and I need to
pick up all the pieces of myself and let go a bit,
but that doesn't feel quite right either,
I just wish I knew how to grieve, is all.