Sublimity in print.

Cable TV Dinner

My grandmother watches

a game show intently.

Wide eyes tucked

behind loose skin.

 

Skin much tighter

in 1966;

Ringo’s suit

matched the screen.

 

After four at noon

trickling dust in light

Her delicate hands

lent the remote

 

At seven years old,

I sat with my brother

watching Ninjas spin

at our favorite hour.

 

A roar of anger

and concern or worry,

erupted from grandmother

if the screen touched our noses.

 

But I like cartoons

with talking dogs,

or crystal gems

more than the evening news.

 

My mom and dad

sunk on the couch

as the broadcast blared

past my bedtime.

 

In between mid-rolls

of detergent and chips,

the screen cut to black,

and we briefly saw ourselves.

 

Four silhouettes,

one of them my own,

my mom, my dad, my brother,

huddled in the living room.

 

11 years later,

I still watch Ninjas spin.

No more TV nor living room,

but a hand-held screen.

 

And when the mini TV

closes its eyes,

all that is reflected

is myself.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I thought the only lonely place was the moon

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