BLUE IN GREEN by MILES DAVIS. Poem by D.R. James.

Divorceville, Michigan, December 1998

First Christmas

Never up first, he was always

downstairs first, his four little boys

aligned like ascending angels

up the polished staircase, already

dressed, eager to see the tree,

their piles of presents, when he gave

the word. But this—his first since

moving out, holed up in a grayed

box on a slab with a stoop just

blocks away: Christmas Eve with

him, a canned ham, and trifles

stuffed into four new matching

stockings; Christmas Day with her.

At forty-four, he’d never spent

this morning alone with its luxury

of infomercials, happy-holiday sales

inserts, fried eggs, and left-over ham.

A nice woman stopped to exchange

commiseration, gifts meant to flatter,

their festive fronts. Later, the phone

said what everyone had gotten—

what he already knew—and that night,

back at the rental after kissing four

happy foreheads through their front

porch door, he watched winter turn

his red wine black, fell asleep weeping,

Miles Davis playing Blue in Green.

 
Stereo Story #821