When I see you, I’m going to wish you a merry Christmas.
I’m going to show you my hands
and tell you how they used to shake.
I’m going to shake
when I tell you.
The snow blows sideways in Cleveland. Our cat
keeps track of a single flake and follows it with his eyes.
I make us rice. I buy you lottery tickets.
Merry Christmas. It’s been a real bitch. Today I slid
the truck into a curb and the dog bumped his head
against the window. I bought the champagne.
There’s nothing to it. You move out.
I move in. Fit my things inside the corners–move
I used to mop these floor, you know
I used to bathe these corners. Used to check on you
in the shower–your wine
slipping gently down the drain.
I have to remember
because I want to forget.
Merry Christmas. The snow falls slowly in Boise.
It falls the way it falls in your memory–a Christmas
with grandma. A dog by the fireplace.
This winter I am naked against the heater,
I am a tired person, who works a lot,
I eat sweet potato fries. I chase a beautiful girl.