A Memory Poem by Clyde King

My dead wife travels with me
wherever I go. I'm never alone.
In life it was the same. When she could
not go with me, she bided
her time, uneasy, restless,
until I returned.

She prided herself with her
organizing and packing skills.
Not only these, she would
pick out my business suits,
shirts and ties. She made sure
that I would look good. She
folded each garment as if
it were made of gold thread.

She showed her love for me,
not in many words, but in
loving acts, the acts of an
intimate friend and lover.

Dec.2020