Untitled. (grief?)

I stood aside and watched her cry
a deep, wracking cry
a lament that seemed to include
the whole of creation in mourning

"I wasn't nothing before him
and now I'm nothing again"
she moaned, swaying softly
over and over
until all the black-suited mourners had gone
and it was just she and I
and a coffin-sized patch of dirt
in the stone-pocked irregular meadow

"wasn't nothing, nothing, nothing"
she said, gaining ferocity
the moan changing to a grunt
then to a yell
and finally to a scream

and I watched her hands clench to fists
and her knees buckle, as she sank
and hit the ground in time with her shouted fury
on her knees
she genuflected anger and hate
her arms, and her tears, hitting the fresh grave
until she had nothing left.

She melted down
and stretched herself across the grave
and tried, vainly, to die with him.

And I had to turn away and hate myself
because I could do nothing.
nothing.