Blue. All around me.

Not quite the bursting bold blue,

but the pale murky blue that seems

to seal off the wily world.

The first photo I see

wafting through the blue surface

is like peering through

a black and white window.

a boy is staring at me

through the thin glass and rusty frame,

with his lips turned upwards.

To his right, the boy soldiered up

and is eyeing me with his shaved hair

and white blazer, complemented

by a frenzy of ribbons speckled

with silver and golden medals;

a reckless smile he bore.

Then the soldier came back home,

and I see a young man in a black tuxedo

with a rose flourishing within his pocket

and a woman in white standing beside him

with roses in her ringed hand.

Its rustic white frame is slanted.

In the final photograph,

the young man is now older,

with glasses clinging onto the tip of his nose

as he holds a mug

in his slightly wrinkled hands

while a newspaper is lying on the table.

And then I see the aged barber

with weathered leather skin

guiding the scissor’s gnashing teeth

with trembling fingers.

I recognize the face that appears

in so many pictures, and in so many memories—

snip-snipping away.