I have lived in a few houses where my wife and i each had a walk-in closet,

but here in my favorite house we share a closet.

My wife died four months ago, so I no longer share a closet

with her; but I still share one with her clothes.

And the closet is still as stuffed as a fat man’s shorts.

There are places where the hangers have to be tipped just to get the stuck between clothes.

The floor is full of sprawled out dirty clothes whose basket has been set aside for lack of room.

The closet is in the same shape as my brain; lots of remnants of Jean’s life with me–beautiful, irreplaceable, and fear producing items made with love.