Tv

Television My sister, a seamstress was the first in our street to buy TV, an ugly, shiny mahogany box in the corner, and since it was early afternoon and no program on, stood there blinking as having dust in its eye. Monday, film night on TV, the whole neighbourhood came and brought things to be sewn; curtains were drawn even though it was summer and still daylight, we sat in darkness, in silence caused by our awe. Back then the TV was run by people who wanted to educate us and we resisted all the Bergman movies, yet we watched enthralled by having a cinema at home that brought news and weather forecasts Glistening cars in the rain, where her house once stood there is now a parking lot; I’m the only one alive, but every face, the evenings are etched on my mind, glass clear in black & white