TFR Home Page TFR Home PageContents ContentsPrev. Page Prev. PageNext Page Next PageComments Comments

Elegy To Miles Davis
By Aaron H. Midler

I find the ring of his trumpet on the rim of my mug,
The bitter, black taste of its wail in my tea,
Feeling his hot breath blowing his hot breath blowing his hot breath
Against mine--

This drink will not be cooled.

But where is the man who left these things behind?

Not at rest against the china handle--
No sign of bed beside the milk,
Nor bite upon the biscuit.

No hair or blood or skin or blues
Left floating in my tea.

he leaves a note--

the barest footprint
fossilized in sugar.

And this warm peace.

TFR Home Page | Submission Guidelines | Frequently Asked Questions | Sign Our Guest Book | Contents | Donations
Workshops | Event Calendar | TFR Background | How to Contact Us | Editors and Authors Only | Privacy Statement

© Copyright 1997, 2020, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 08/19/2002

(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),

ga('create', 'UA-22493141-2', 'auto');
ga('send', 'pageview');