Static Flowers

The colors flicker… faces move.

Lips talk but…

no sound I know.

Someone laughs. Was it me?

Rows of chairs like gravestones.

People blinking.

Some sleeping.

One rocking, one humming a song I forget.

The box on the wall—

is it telling me something?

A horse.

A man with teeth.

A woman cries in a kitchen.

I think she knows me.

I lift my hand—

no, not mine—hers.

Nails chipped.

A tremble.

Skin like paper dolls.

The man beside me smells like dust.

I like him.

Or maybe I don’t.

He once had a dog?

Or a war?

Laughter from the screen again.

Is this a game?

Did we win?

I feel warm. Or wet.

Does that matter now?

Someone walks by—white shoes.

She bends down, says words.

Soft words.

I nod.

That’s what I do. Nod.

The TV glows,

and we bloom in its static—

all of us,

together,

like flowers no one waters

but still

refuse

to wilt.