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

ones. A homemade one, cardboard cover, fabric peeling at the corners, photographs pasted in at slight angles. She said her mother had made it. She had found it the same day she found David’s old crafts in the attic.

The first page showed Barbara at seven or eight, grinning with a gap where her front teeth had been, wearing a paper crown decorated with continue reading …