MY FATHER MAILS ME HIS WIFE’S CLOTHING by Karen Loeb I will not wear her clothes that you have sent me, lovingly folded and packed, sweater upon sweater, cashmere and silk jackets she probably never wore once her feet hit California soil. I will not wear her blouses, the ones with pearl buttons up the spine and the faded green one with no sleeves. I will not wear the mink hat and the cracked leather gloves with the blue silk lining. I will not wear the India print blouse, though it’s probably the only item that appeals to me. I will not wear the high heels with scuffed soles. I will not wear these clothes that are forty years out of date, that were made for a body that is not mine, that are filled with moth holes and material snags and cigarette burns and permanent stains. I appreciate your thoughts, that you want her somehow to live on even though she’s gone. I’m glad the Rocky Mountains are between us, that there’s little chance you’ll visit, so you won’t see that I haven’t kept a stitch of them. I’m grateful your note, scrawled on yellow legal pad paper, said, “Wear what you can, and donate the rest.” Gyroscope Review - page 13 !