No need to say,
but the saying goes—
enclosed in an oven’s
heated space, you’ll
rise, I’ll rise, we’ll
form a kissing-crust
though everything that
contains us might be
too hot to touch.
In response to Webster's Forgotten Words.
Axis
Birds reel overhead,
their dark punctuation departing
from the grammar
of rusted roofs— Street signs
point in the only
direction they know, until a wind
or some government decree
uproots them.
On the corner, the shoeshine boy
trades cards for comic books,
and the vegetable vendor is texting her son.
In the park where a man once whispered
Do not pretend you don’t know
what I want, highland girls string
strawflowers on cord.
The sweet, charred odor of roasted corn
precedes dusk: hour of reckoning,
hour of bitterness, of surrender.
In response to Via Negativa: Silent drunk.
Silent drunk
This morning I ventured by water abroad to Westminster, but lost my labour, for Mr. Montagu was not in town. So to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, which is the first time I have seen her dine abroad since her being brought to bed of my Lady Katherine. In the afternoon Captain Ferrers and I walked abroad to several places, among others to Mr. Pim’s, my Lord’s Taylour’s, and there he went out with us to the Fountain tavern and did give us store of wine, and it being the Duke of York’s birthday, we drank the more to his health. But, Lord! what a sad story he makes of his being abused by a Dr. of Physique who is in one part of the tenement wherein he dwells. It would make one laugh, though I see he is under a great trouble in it. Thence home by link and found a good answer from my father that Sir R. Bernard do clear all things as to us and our title to Brampton, which puts my heart in great ease and quiet.
I lost my labor to the war,
my time to bed, my place
to a store of wine.
What a sad story!
I make one good thing:
a great quiet.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 14 October 1661.
The dumpling maker
on Kayang Street hollows
a well in a mound of flour,
then pours in a trickle of water.
Outside in the alley, stray
cats mew near the garbage bins.
A scatter of salt,
then two fists in the dough.
He pulls and stretches
until a rope is ready to divide
into moons— Roll them thin
so you can fill them,
pleat them, crimp
each of their ovals shut.
Into the basket go
more than a dozen bundles,
their bellies plump,
their shrimp dreams visible
as filaments of steam.
In response to Via Negativa: Dosage.
Suspended
(Lord’s day). Did not stir out all day, but rose and dined below, and this day left off half skirts and put on a wastecoate, and my false taby wastecoate with gold lace; and in the evening there came Sir W. Batten to see me, and sat and supped very kindly with me, and so to prayers and to bed.
No stir out of half skirts
and false lace—
an evening bat.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 13 October 1661.
Lure
They told me as a child,
pick the fish-bone from your plate and go
quietly behind the one
who is choking on her dinner. Find
a way to deposit
that mineral sliver in her hair,
and she will be spared.
I believed without asking,
trusted without coiling
my spine. How is it possible
I could hold out my hand then
and touch, or hold, and nothing broke?
In response to Via Negativa: Self-exile.
Dosage
In bed the greatest part of this day also, and my swelling in some measure gone. I received a letter this day from my father, that Sir R. Bernard do a little fear that my uncle has not observed exactly the custom of Brampton in his will about his lands there, which puts me to a great trouble in mind, and at night wrote to him and to my father about it, being much troubled at it.
In bed, swelling,
I measure a little fear,
observe exactly
the custom of
the mind at night.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 12 October 1661.
Inside and out
All day in bed with a cataplasm to my Codd and at night rose a little, and to bed again in more ease than last night. This noon there came my brother and Dr. Tom and Snow to dinner, and by themselves were merry.
All day a cat and the snow
by themselves
were merry.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 11 October 1661.
The Complaint Department is Now Open
I have nothing to wear,
said the soul, rummaging
through drawers full of socks—
I would like to have
a word with the night,
said the eye’s dark iris—
I have pockets full of seeds,
said the bitter melon that I sliced
into half-circles on the chopping board—
And I repeat everything you say,
said the northern mockingbird to the row
of machines churning in the laundromat—
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Postprandial
At the office all the morning; dined at home, and after dinner Sir W. Pen and my wife and I to the Theatre (she first going into Covent Garden to speak a word with a woman to enquire of her mother, and I in the meantime with Sir W. Pen’s coach staying at W. Joyce’s), where the King came to-day, and there was “The Traytor” most admirably acted; and a most excellent play it is. So home, and intended to be merry, it being my sixth wedding night; but by a late bruise in one of my testicles. I am in so much pain that I eat my supper and in pain to bed, yet my wife and I pretty merry.
After dinner to the garden
to speak a word
into the night.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 10 October 1661.