Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

discarded napkins. The jewelry box for Aunt Susan, lid cracked, a smear of red lipstick across the painted flowers where some discarded cosmetic had landed on the surface. And on top of everything, tilted sideways, pages splayed and one corner stuck to a wet teabag, the memory book. The blue ribbon Emma had selected and tied and untied and retied twice continue reading …