By: Anna Schmeer

Your polaroids next to my polaroids
Yours taken with your ‘new’ polaroid camera (1960)
Mine taken with my friend’s ‘new’ polaroid camera (2017)
Yours, yellowed, colors fading,
Mine, stark white with bold colors.
In yours, you and your husband outside your new home
In mine, I hold a candle
You, your daughter, my grandma, at the circus
Me, my friend’s dog in the snow

Your papery-plastic album is filled with old polaroids
My sleek silver phone snaps photos with ‘retro’ polaroid filters
Your hands shake as you warn me of their fragility
My hands are strong as I roll my eyes

My eyes flit over pages, barely see what I am looking at
Your eyes staring longingly at my polaroids for the days that used to be