And though you’re not certain of the pamphlet’s use, you know the pamphlet is useful. You know it’s important. You’ve felt it working on your life, a silent sacred work, a life guided by possession of the pamphlet. And though you’re not sure why, you know you’ve been changed by the presence of this slip of paper, this slip that somehow hurts, that cuts, that has no use except to remind you of something (what?), of someplace (where?), of your first husband sitting on the porch the day the pamphlet first fell into your hands.
