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You call and I serve
because you gave me
a name that means hover,
watch over. I give up
and defer, make way,
beg pardon, squeeze
into the narrow
back passage in my
coming and going.
There’s a button
inlaid in the floor,
its purpose
my summons. And I
no longer recall
what it’s like
not to start
at the sound
of my name.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
And the next morning got up, telling my wife of my journey, and she with a few words got me to hire her a horse to go along with me. So I went to my Lady’s and elsewhere to take leave, and of Mr. Townsend did borrow a very fine side-saddle for my wife; and so after all things were ready, she and I took coach to the end of the town towards Kingsland, and there got upon my horse and she upon her pretty mare that I hired for her, and she rides very well. By the mare at one time falling she got a fall, but no harm; so we got to Ware, and there supped, and to bed very merry and pleasant.
Morning-mare:
a red ride.
We are falling
but we go
up.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 17 September 1661.
For what occasion did I save
that ill-fitting suit, those shoes
that pinched, that jeweled clutch
worn only one other time before I
put all away and lined the bags
with mothballs? I still have the two
white underskirts adorned with tiny
satin rosebuds made for my First Communion;
and the jade green blouse and skirt I wore
when I got hitched a second time.
Among the baby shoes and embroidered
bedspreads, there is an envelope too
in which I’ve kept relics— hair and nail
clippings, birth-cords: four dried, indigo-
colored discs smaller than stamps,
threaded through their hearts by safety
pins to paper, the way that mothers like
to keep their daughters close.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
This morning I was busy at home to take in my part of our freight of Coles, which Sir G. Carteret, Sir R. Slingsby, and myself sent for, which is 10 Chaldron, 8 of which I took in, and with the other to repay Sir W. Pen what I borrowed of him a little while ago. So that from this day I should see how long 10 chaldron of coals will serve my house, if it please the Lord to let me live to see them burned.
In the afternoon by appointment to meet Dr. Williams and his attorney, and they and I to Tom Trice, and there got him in discourse to confess the words that he had said that his mother did desire him not to see my uncle about her 200l. bond while she was alive. Here we were at high words with T. Trice and then parted, and we to Standing’s, in Fleet Street, where we sat and drank and talked a great while about my going down to Gravely Court, which will be this week, whereof the Doctor had notice in a letter from his sister this week. In the middle of our discourse word was brought me from my brother’s that there is a fellow come from my father out of the country, on purpose to speak to me, so I went to him and he made a story how he had lost his letter, but he was sure it was for me to go into the country, which I believed, and thought it might be to give me notice of Gravely Court, but I afterwards found that it was a rogue that did use to play such tricks to get money of people, but he got none of me. At night I went home, and there found letters from my father informing me of the Court, and that I must come down and meet him at Impington, which I presently resolved to do…
I take my part
of our freight: coal to burn,
words to see with,
a grave to let me into
the country of letters.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 16 September 1661.
the tiny herald
in the gut.
Before the torrent,
the restless dream.
Before the conflagration,
the careless match.
Before return,
the anxious waiting
at the threshold of no
going back.
In response to Via Negativa: Proverbial.
(Lord’s day). To my aunt Kite’s in the morning to help my uncle Fenner to put things in order against anon for the buriall, and at noon home again; and after dinner to church, my wife and I, and after sermon with my wife to the buriall of my aunt Kite, where besides us and my uncle Fenner’s family, there was none of any quality, but poor rascally people. So we went to church with the corps, and there had service read at the grave, and back again with Pegg Kite who will be, I doubt, a troublesome carrion to us executors; but if she will not be ruled, I shall fling up my executorship. After that home, and Will Joyce along with me where we sat and talked and drank and ate an hour or two, and so he went away and I up to my chamber and then to prayers and to bed.
Lord, my kite,
help my poor corpse
be carrion but not
be ruled,
I pray.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 15 September 1661.
A scroll of ash transcribes
a deposition for the gods.
The mountain wakes
to clear its throat.
Don’t tell the sea of how
the animals are daily herded back;
its vestments, shred, are still
more beautiful than night.
In the wilderness, even the soot-
smudged bees can lose the path
to honey; even the rain
can stumble and lose its way.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
At the office all the morning, at noon to the Change, and then home again. To dinner, where my uncle Fenner by appointment came and dined with me, thinking to go together to my aunt Kite’s that is dead; but before we had dined comes Sir R. Slingsby and his lady, and a great deal of company, to take my wife and I out by barge to shew them the King’s and Duke’s yachts. So I was forced to leave my uncle and brother Tom at dinner and go forth with them, and we had great pleasure, seeing all four yachts, viz., these two and the two Dutch ones. And so home again, and after writing letters by post, to bed.
I change
by appointment,
think the dead.
But before the seeing,
the writing.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 14 September 1661.
and let the barnacles go another year
without paying rent. Let the days lengthen
like an old cardigan that’s kept its cables
if not its shape. Let the jasmine, still
fragrant in the mind, shed its husks
like dried asterisks on the deck,
and let the garden go—
Let the mottled green of moss
slipper the waiting hearts of stones.
In response to Via Negativa: Interment.
This morning I was sent for by my uncle Fenner to come and advise about the buriall of my aunt, the butcher, who died yesterday; and from thence to the Anchor, by Doctor’s Commons, and there Dr. Williams and I did write a letter for my purpose to Mr. Sedgewick, of Cambridge, about Gravely business, and after that I left him and an attorney with him and went to the Wardrobe, where I found my wife, and thence she and I to the water to spend the afternoon in pleasure; and so we went to old George’s, and there eat as much as we would of a hot shoulder of mutton, and so to boat again and home. So to bed, my mind very full of business and trouble.
For the burial
of an anchor,
let the water eat
as much as a bed
full of trouble.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 13 September 1661.