Dinner date

Lay very long in bed, till with shame forced to rise, being called up by Mr. Bland about business. He being gone I went and staid upon business at the office and then home to dinner, and after dinner staid a little talking pleasant with my wife, who tells me of another woman offered by her brother that is pretty and can sing, to which I do listen but will not appear over forward, but I see I must keep somebody for company sake to my wife, for I am ashamed she should live as she do. So to the office till 10 at night upon business, and numbering and examining part of my sea-manuscript with great pleasure, my wife sitting working by me. So home to supper and to bed.

dinner in a can
I listen for company’s sake
to the night sea


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 14 January 1662/63.

Owls and rabbits

So my poor wife rose by five o’clock in the morning, before day, and went to market and bought fowls and many other things for dinner, with which I was highly pleased, and the chine of beef was down also before six o’clock, and my own jack, of which I was doubtfull, do carry it very well. Things being put in order, and the cook come, I went to the office, where we sat till noon and then broke up, and I home, whither by and by comes Dr. Clerke and his lady, his sister, and a she-cozen, and Mr. Pierce and his wife, which was all my guests.
I had for them, after oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, and a rare chine of beef. Next a great dish of roasted fowl, cost me about 30s., and a tart, and then fruit and cheese. My dinner was noble and enough. I had my house mighty clean and neat; my room below with a good fire in it; my dining-room above, and my chamber being made a withdrawing-chamber; and my wife’s a good fire also. I find my new table very proper, and will hold nine or ten people well, but eight with great room. After dinner the women to cards in my wife’s chamber, and the Dr. and Mr. Pierce in mine, because the dining-room smokes unless I keep a good charcoal fire, which I was not then provided with. At night to supper, had a good sack posset and cold meat, and sent my guests away about ten o’clock at night, both them and myself highly pleased with our management of this day; and indeed their company was very fine, and Mrs. Clerke a very witty, fine lady, though a little conceited and proud. So weary, so to bed. I believe this day’s feast will cost me near 5l..

owls of six o’clock doubt
carry me home

whither come my rabbits
good fire good charcoal good night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 13 January 1662/63.

Cravings

Salty chips, the vinegar and black
pepper kind. A plate of rice
topped with curled leaves of dried
fish flash-fried in the pan.
(Who cares how long the smell
clings to the furniture and drapes?)
Steamed kai-lan drizzled with chili
oil, pucker of a pickled plum;
the odd marriage of the green
and bitter gourd with sugar
to set the teeth on edge—
My tongue tumbles from one
small station of desire
to the next. Piquant, bitter,
savory, hot: wanting all, taking
all in to feed the gut
that’s always looking to find
the ferment, ever since the first
time it learned about the sweet.

Celestial Directions

Once again, we ride the Apocalyptic
Highway, angel voices ringing
in our ears, Johnny Cash on the car
stereo. Unsure of our destination,
we leave the desolate city behind.

Others rely on maps or GPS devices,
but we travel with a different
sort of celestial directions.
We dream each night
and see the markers by day.

We eat the way our grandparents
ate on the road: a loaf
of cinnamon bread, a hunk
of cheese, and a bag of apples.
This food will take us far.

Only when we rest by a stream
do we let ourselves ponder
the future. We soak our feet
and then bandage them. We hurry
on towards what awaits us.


Inspired by Luisa A. Igloria’s “Zip,” Dave Bonta’s “Slumming It” and the Epiphany/flight to Egypt story in the second chapter of the Gospel of Matthew.

Social climbers

Up, and to Sir W. Batten’s to bid him and Sir J. Minnes adieu, they going this day towards Portsmouth, and then to Sir W. Pen’s to see Sir J. Lawson, who I heard was there, where I found him the same plain man that he was, after all his success in the Straights, with which he is come loaded home. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and with him in his coach to White Hall, and first I to see my Lord Sandwich (being come now from Hinchingbrooke), and after talking a little with him, he and I to the Duke’s chamber, where Mr. Coventry and he and I into the Duke’s closett and Sir J. Lawson discoursing upon business of the Navy, and particularly got his consent to the ending some difficulties in Mr. Creed’s accounts.
Thence to my Lord’s lodgings, and with Mr. Creed to the King’s Head ordinary, but people being set down, we went to two or three places; at last found some meat at a Welch cook’s at Charing Cross, and here dined and our boys.
After dinner to the ‘Change to buy some linen for my wife, and going back met our two boys. Mine had struck down Creed’s boy in the dirt, with his new suit on, and the boy taken by a gentlewoman into a house to make clean, but the poor boy was in a pitifull taking and pickle; but I basted my rogue soundly. Thence to my Lord’s lodging, and Creed to his, for his papers against the Committee. I found my Lord within, and he and I went out through the garden towards the Duke’s chamber, to sit upon the Tangier matters; but a lady called to my Lord out of my Lady Castlemaine’s lodging, telling him that the King was there and would speak with him. My Lord could not tell what to bid me say at the Committee to excuse his absence, but that he was with the King; nor would suffer me to go into the Privy Garden (which is now a through-passage, and common), but bid me to go through some other way, which I did; so that I see he is a servant of the King’s pleasures too, as well as business. So I went to the Committee, where we spent all this night attending to Sir J. Lawson’s description of Tangier and the place for the Mole, of which he brought a very pretty draught. Concerning the making of the Mole, Mr. Cholmely did also discourse very well, having had some experience in it.
Being broke up, I home by coach to Mr. Bland’s, and there discoursed about sending away of the merchant ship which hangs so long on hand for Tangier.
So to my Lady Batten’s, and sat with her awhile, Sir W. Batten being gone out of town; but I did it out of design to get some oranges for my feast to-morrow of her, which I did.
So home, and found my wife’s new gown come home, and she mightily pleased with it. But I appeared very angry that there were no more things got ready against to-morrow’s feast, and in that passion sat up long, and went discontented to bed.

I was the same plain man
with a king’s head

ordinary as meat
at a cook’s house

but my lady would not suffer me to go
into the garden

in her hand one orange
for my feast


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 12 January 1662/63.

Pale blues

photo by Jean Morris described in poem

Skylight, pale light
rains softly on the red silk roses
and the complicated chandeliers,

the turquoise-blue mosaic
and the pale mural where
a pale, veiled woman sits beneath a vine.

This is pretend Morocco, theme-park
Morocco, but gentle and understated,
in the best of taste, like the food
that alludes politely to north Africa –

merguez and hummus and mint tea
on an old brass tray that glints and rocks,
harissa careful to be not
too hot.

New Year

At the Asian grocery store, curling
wreaths of paper dragons, wads of crimped
flowers, loops of good luck charms and trays
of sweets. Another year to eat in glossy
pink cellophane wrappers, in the shadow
of a beckoning cat. Why then does my eye
alight on all things weathered or fried?
Crinkled sheets of nori tempura, dried
persimmons pressed flat like rows
of leathery breasts. Dark, maternal
aureoles in their centers— Dropped
in a warm bath of water, will they
bloom again for a puckered mouth?
Nowhere can I find those delicate
orange, bud-shaped lanterns. I’d cut
a few branches and swing them ahead
of us as we walk home in the dark.
No matter. I tell myself I can be
content to lie in a loose basket
of sleep, one foot curled around
your ankle, one hand under my cheek.

Dendrochronology

Once she saw in a museum, a table wide as the lap
of a fallen tree. Each ring bore the names of generation
upon generation: imagine great-great-great-granddaughters
and -sons peering down from their balconies or standing
in a little gust of wind at the edge of the shore, waving
at a pretty figure so far away in the distance. My kin,
my kin, do you not know me? Here I am
. This is a lie of course,
a fabrication; which is not to say there aren’t some parts
that are true. Those are the places that are pitted
and notched, graved where lightning seared new words
into the wood. She takes a little silk, a little citrus
oil. Surfaces can shine, but never darker than the wound.
If you cup her head in your hand just so, if you circle
her waist with your arm, the sleeplessness is bearable.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Pretty.

Unwinding

(Lord’s day). Lay long talking pleasant with my wife, then up and to church, the pew being quite full with strangers come along with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, so after a pitifull sermon of the young Scott, home to dinner. After dinner comes a footman of my Lord Sandwich’s (my Lord being come to town last night) with a letter from my father, in which he presses me to carry on the business for Tom with his late mistress, which I am sorry to see my father do, it being so much out of our power or for his advantage, as it is clear to me it is, which I shall think of and answer in my next. So to my office all the afternoon writing orders myself to have ready against to-morrow, that I might not appear negligent to Mr. Coventry.
In the evening to Sir W. Pen’s, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and afterwards came Sir G. Carteret. There talked about business, and afterwards to Sir W. Batten’s, where we staid talking and drinking Syder, and so I went away to my office a little, and so home and to bed.

day long as a sermon
or a letter in clear ink

so tomorrow might not appear
where we drink


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 11 January 1662/63.