yearbook raze you sift through snapshots stashed in someone else's attic. relics from a time before you were born. your father isn't in any of these scenes, though he should be. two friends mug for the camera while a man who's a dead_ringer for your one remaining grade school confidant stands apart from them, aloof but not alone. these students were named for city streets and simple sleds. some of them must be dead by now. in photographs drained of their colour and buttressed by blue binder's board, their ghosts go on smiling, spilling what secrets a mirror and prism can parse. 251130 what's it to you? who go blather from