There’s a romance in certain old clothes, in this pile that so many women made from the leavings in their closets.

 

These threads, worn by time, softened by skin. These things we know we’ll never need again, like that light blue shirt three sizes too small, or those pin-striped pants with the stretchy middle band that held our bellies big with baby. Or that dress, cherry red, with the zipper caught on the memory of the last time it was pulled down down down to that sweet spot where the spine ends in a dip.

 

 

“It’s for a good cause,” we tell ourselves as we sort through the pile, sticking hand-written price tags on these things that we once smoothed over our bodies while we scrutinized each curve, each angle… These things that made us smile at the woman in the mirror smiling back at us.

 

“Maybe someone else will love it like we did once,” we say to ourselves softly. “Besides, Passover is coming… and anyway, t’s time to clean our closets and clear our cupboards… because look: it’s already Spring again.”