All of life is a photo album,
Pure, blank, unmarked at first,
Each fragile page gaining the wisdom of the age,
Worn, softened, yellowed, by the fleeting seconds that the memories traverse.

Reliving through the photo album
the first page is childhood.
Inside the decorative borders of a 1929 gray-scale photograph,
the beady gaze of a wide-eyed toddler contrasts her pale, plump cheeks;
dark curls neatly crowning her head as she rests on a blanket.

Reliving through the photo album,
get the taste of a fresh chapter in the life of a bright, intelligent young lady.
A poet herself, you can see in this vintage shot.
Sitting at an oak wood desk, perfectly positioned, thin, dainty hands dance clickety-clack,
across the noisy keys of her prized possession- a black, metallic typewriter.
Adjusting the paper, she moves onto the next line.

Reliving through the photo album,
young adulthood.
A mature woman, her quiet spirit and elegant air attract many,
Yet she remains modest- chin up, back straight, eyes wary-
As she strolls ‘round the city square in a classical 50s floor length dress,
the corset an outline for the waist.

Reliving through the photo album,
In the fourth chapter of this memory book,
polaroid photographs are reminiscent of walking down the aisle and baby’s breath bouquets,
wanting cries from cradled bundles.
Oh how she has changed,
now a multitasking mother of four with a servant’s heart like no other.

Reliving through the photo album,
half-filled now, with life lessons a’plenty and pictures added to the pages,
it gradually springs to life with the introduction of color photography.

Reliving through the photo album now is like the tick-tocking forward of a time machine,
Mementos of a long white veil and tender babbling faces are glued in her album for a second time.
the loving, kind embrace of a mother returns,
raising her granddaughters as her own.

Reliving through the photo album,
Muffled wedding bells echo in her ears as her weathered hands wipe away drops of joy from mellowed cheeks.
Laugh lines, crow's’ feet and tear trough wrinkles appear in the folds of an older face,
like the velvet crinkles on a rose petal.
The dark, now hooded eyes swell with moisture like an ocean overflowing,
welcoming the birth of her first great-grandchild.

Reliving through the photo album,
Digital print photography has taken over, accompanied by a ritardando-
a pause in the picture taking.
Scarred by a lifetime of highs and lows,
a gradual fade of memories has begun.

Reliving through the photo album, it’s like going back to the beginning,
a childish persona appears.
“¿Dónde está la Abuelita?” I ask.
“This is not the same smart, witty woman who raised us”, the two generations above me agree.

The beady eyes, once alert, see me, yet don’t see me.
“¿Y vos quien eres?” Abuelita asks me, tilting her head, giggling, smiling, facing my direction with a blank stare.
Reliving through the photo album, its not the same anymore.
Reliving through the photo album, its not the same as before.