Ketubah

1 February 2015

The scrapbook is bound
in sky blue leather, worn
thin at the spine, filled
with cracked black pages.
Inside are marriage certificates
that float like gold leaf
in my hands. Old postcards
and photographs lift free.
I turn the pages; discover
what look like a stack
of ancient treasure maps-
Polish telegrams dated 1924,
the year of my great grandparent’s
wedding. I document the artefacts
and scan the front and back, just in case
I miss a clue.

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