A black and white tv was always sputtering
through those early decades. My father,

twisting knobs to keep the picture
from its nervous twitch. Images reduced

to grainy shadow when the telescoped
antenna failed, despite a tinfoil flag.

Households gathered by those modest
screens, cautioned by all mothers if we

sat too close (we sat too close), we would
ruin our eyes. We watched all night

until an after-hours signal pierced our blurred
insomnia. I miss the soft glow sustaining

even after turning off the set, a glimpse,
through ruined eyes, of the afterlife.