I must have been six when my mother took me
with her one Saturday to market, when I first
witnessed how blood could run down her legs
like water from a spigot then thicken like paint,
congealing as it dried. It wasn’t till later
in life I understood where it began or why
she suffered so from unabated periods.
That day, lips pale and knuckles tightening
their hold on me, frantic, she flagged down
a passing jeepney and begged the driver
to take us home. A day later she was in
the hospital for a hysterectomy, a word
I heard my father say but did not understand
yet either. All I pieced together from talk
overheard was that her insides had been
scraped and parts tied up— with what?
I couldn’t imagine: twine? ribbon? yarn?
sewing thread? and that the doctor
had thoughtfully thrown in an appendectomy
for free. When we visited her they showed me
a sealed transparent vial of brown glass,
where the appendix floated like some dead
grey fingerling in a bit of liquid.
Her legs were clean below the plain
starched blue of the hospital gown:
they bore no trace of viscous crimson
branching toward the sidewalk, pooling
in her shoes. And I’ve never liked
the smell or color of red since then.
Bible thumper
Up before three o’clock, and a little after upon the water, it being very light as at noon, and a bright sunrising; but by and by a rainbow appeared, the first that ever in a morning I saw, and then it fell a-raining a little, but held up again, and I to Woolwich, where before all the men came to work I with Mr. Deane spent two hours upon the new ship, informing myself in the names and natures of many parts of her to my great content, and so back again, without doing any thing else, and after shifting myself away to Westminster, looking after Mr. Maes’s business and others. In the Painted Chamber I heard a fine conference between some of the two Houses upon the Bill for Conventicles. The Lords would be freed from having their houses searched by any but the Lord Lieutenant of the County; and upon being found guilty, to be tried only by their peers; and thirdly, would have it added, that whereas the Bill says, “That that, among other things, shall be a conventicle wherein any such meeting is found doing any thing contrary to the Liturgy of the Church of England,” they would have it added, “or practice.” The Commons to the Lords said, that they knew not what might hereafter be found out which might be called the practice of the Church of England; for there are many things may be said to be the practice of the Church, which were never established by any law, either common, statute, or canon; as singing of psalms, binding up prayers at the end of the Bible, and praying extempore before and after sermon: and though these are things indifferent, yet things for aught they at present know may be started, which may be said to be the practice of the Church which would not be fit to allow.
For the Lords’ priviledges, Mr. Walter told them how tender their predecessors had been of the priviledges of the Lords; but, however, where the peace of the kingdom stands in competition with them, they apprehend those priviledges must give place. He told them that he thought, if they should owne all to be the priviledges of the Lords which might be demanded, they should be led like the man (who granted leave to his neighbour to pull off his horse’s tail, meaning that he could not do it at once) that hair by hair had his horse’s tail pulled off indeed: so the Commons, by granting one thing after another, might be so served by the Lords. Mr. Vaughan, whom I could not to my grief perfectly hear, did say, if that they should be obliged in this manner to, exempt the Lords from every thing, it would in time come to pass that whatever (be [it] never so great) should be voted by the Commons as a thing penall for a commoner, the contrary should be thought a priviledge to the Lords.
That also in this business, the work of a conventicle being but the work of an hour, the cause of a search would be over before a Lord Lieutenant, who may be many miles off, can be sent for.
And that all this dispute is but about 100l.; for it is said in the Act, that it shall be banishment or payment of 100l..
I thereupon heard the Duke of Lenox say, that there might be Lords who could not always be ready to lose 100l., or some such thing.
They broke up without coming to any end in it.
There was also in the Commons’ House a great quarrel about Mr. Prin, and it was believed that he should have been sent to the Towre, for adding something to a Bill (after it was ordered to be engrossed) of his own head — a Bill for measures for wine and other things of that sort, and a Bill of his owne bringing in; but it appeared he could not mean any hurt in it. But, however, the King was fain to write in his behalf, and all was passed over. But it is worth my remembrance, that I saw old Ryly the Herald, and his son; and spoke to his son, who told me in very bad words concerning Mr. Prin, that the King had given him an office of keeping the Records; but that he never comes thither, nor had been there these six months: so that I perceive they expect to get his imployment from him. Thus every body is liable to be envied and supplanted.
At noon over to the Leg, where Sir G. Ascue, Sir Robt. Parkhurst and Sir W. Pen dined. A good dinner and merry. Thence to White Hall walking up and down a great while, but the Council not meeting soon enough I went homeward, calling upon my cozen Roger Pepys, with whom I talked and heard so much from him of his desire that I would see my brother’s debts paid, and things still of that nature tending to my parting with what I get with pain to serve others’ expenses that I was cruelly vexed. Thence to Sir R. Bernard, and there heard something of Pigott’s delay of paying our money, that that also vexed me mightily. So home and there met with a letter from my cozen Scott, which tells me that he is resolved to meddle no more with our business, of administering for my father, which altogether makes me almost distracted to think of the trouble that I am like to meet with by other folks’ business more than ever I hope to have by my owne. So with great trouble of mind to bed.
I inform myself in the names
and natures of many parts of her
my fine and binding Bible
like the man who hair by hair
pulled the grief out
of his own head
but I could not hurt the bad
words that keep a body
planted in desire
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 13 May 1664.
Meditation: On Change
What was it like again, what were my thoughts
as I sat nearly two decades ago in the kitchen
of my dead father’s house, handwritten notes
on index cards spread out on the table, landline
phone in the middle, waiting to be interviewed
for a job halfway around the world? I mean
I knew it was a job interview, but what
were the risks as I felt them then, sitting
an hour before midnight with an afghan
around my shoulders, a storm raging outside,
praying that the power wouldn’t go out?
It was noon where my unseen interrogators
gathered in a meeting room for the conference
call, with questions about my experience,
probing my visions for translating the ideals
of a multiethnic and literary education
into concrete teaching plans. The battery-
powered clock ticked on the wall; my nerves
skittered wild beneath my collarbone. The sense
of a future and how it might fold— such
high stakes, though I couldn’t yet imagine them,
nor see at all beyond the rain-streaked window-
panes. No one else heard this performance
in my childhood home— everyone was in bed:
my daughters, my mother nursing a hot
water bottle for warmth. Near the end
of an hour, I put the phone down. I’d made
my pitch, whatever that meant; filled in
as best as I could the parts they needed
to see more closely. How to sleep thereafter
for wondering how the river stays the same,
though the waters pouring into it are always
changing; how everything had already
begun to change though everything still
seemed the same. How around us, neighborhoods
breathed though quietened by unrelenting rain.
Edenic
Up by 4 o’clock and by water to Woolwich, where did some business and walked to Greenwich, good discourse with Mr. Deane best part of the way; there met by appointment Commissioner Pett, and with him to Deptford, where did also some business, and so home to my office, and at noon Mrs. Hunt and her cozens child and mayd came and dined with me. My wife sick of those in bed. I was troubled with it, but, however, could not help it, but attended them till after dinner, and then to the office and there sat all the afternoon, and by a letter to me this afternoon from Mr. Coventry I saw the first appearance of a warr with Holland. So home; and betimes to bed because of rising to-morrow.
at green noon
how not to try
the first pear
Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 12 May 1664.
Self-Portrait, on the Cusp
I did not come of age in Bauang or Bacnotan
or Naguilian. Before, I was the snot-nosed
girl who hid in the bushes and behind the fence
to listen to others talk about the world beyond
our town. I was nimble with needle and thread
and my right foot could follow the rhythm of the treadle.
I braided my waist-long hair by the window, pretending
to look at the moon while trying to curb the jealousy
incited by older sister’s matching shoes and shirtdress,
umbrella and purse. When she went out to work I counted
her heels’ fading steps in the distance, then envied
more the moon’s golden light fallen like a shawl
across our poor walls. I longed to spread my hair
like a carpet on the grass. I longed to be someone’s
sweet, the warm brown musk a note underlining
the flotilla of smoke rings from someone’s mouth
before it hovered over mine, then descended.
Inklings
Up and all day, both forenoon and afternoon, at my office to see it finished by the joyners and washed and every thing in order, and indeed now my closet is very convenient and pleasant for me. My uncle Wight came to me to my office this afternoon to speak with me about Mr. Maes’s business again, and from me went to my house to see my wife, and strange to think that my wife should by and by send for me after he was gone to tell me that he should begin discourse of her want of children and his also, and how he thought it would be best for him and her to have one between them, and he would give her 500l. either in money or jewells beforehand, and make the child his heir. He commended her body, and discoursed that for all he knew the thing was lawful. She says she did give him a very warm answer, such as he did not excuse himself by saying that he said this in jest, but told her that since he saw what her mind was he would say no more to her of it, and desired her to make no words of it. It seemed he did say all this in a kind of counterfeit laugh, but by all words that passed, which I cannot now so well set down, it is plain to me that he was in good earnest, and that I fear all his kindness is but only his lust to her. What to think of it of a sudden I know not, but I think not to take notice yet of it to him till I have thought better of it. So with my mind and head a little troubled I received a letter from Mr. Coventry about a mast for the Duke’s yacht, which with other business makes me resolve to go betimes to Woolwich to-morrow. So to supper and to bed.
both joy and ash came
from my strange children
I sired words
in a kind of counterfeit lust
what to think of a sudden ink
bled from other times
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 11 May 1664.
Self-Portrait as Purloined Matter
Have you ever raised your hand
to answer a question at a meeting
then have someone else echo exactly
what you just said, and seen him get
acknowledged, even as the group
of women nearest you makes sounds
of protest? “But that’s what she
just said!” Have you ever worked
for the same token or reward harder
than the rest of your cohort,
then been told in confidence
that the senior person on your
committee, the same one who always says
so affably How’re you doing, dear?
whenever you cross paths in the hallway,
was the only dissenting vote in your
promotion? And I’ve tried to call estranged
kin using the same numbers over and over;
sent text messages day after day, getting
neither confirmation nor answer, even if I
can tell by the change in the color of the icon
that my attempts have been seen. I’ve been told
in all these it’s probably a side effect
of competition: few resources to go around,
so only the ones with the strongest guts prevail
in the face of heated burn or cool disdain—
Is that like the gangly seabirds I’ve seen coming
inland, encroaching on smaller birds on the river’s
dried-up flats, forcing them to spit up the catch
that just moments ago felt solid and salty as luck?
Self-care
Up and at my office looking after my workmen all the morning, and after the office was done did the same at night, and so home to supper and to bed.
I look after
all morning the one
I am at night
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 10 May 1664.
Drought
Up and to my office all the morning, and there saw several things done in my work to my great content, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner in Sir W. Pen’s coach he set my wife and I down at the New Exchange, and after buying some things we walked to my Lady Sandwich’s, who, good lady, is now, thanks be to God! so well as to sit up, and sent to us, if we were not afeard, to come up to her. So we did; but she was mightily against my wife’s coming so near her; though, poor wretch! she is as well as ever she was, as to the meazles, and nothing can I see upon her face. There we sat talking with her above three hours, till six o’clock, of several things with great pleasure and so away, and home by coach, buying several things for my wife in our way, and so after looking what had been done in my office to-day, with good content home to supper and to bed. But, strange, how I cannot get any thing to take place in my mind while my work lasts at my office. This day my wife and I in our way to Paternoster Row to buy things called upon Mr. Hollyard to advise upon her drying up her issue in her leg, which inclines of itself to dry up, and he admits of it that it should be dried up.
fear is the nothing
I face in a clock
after looking at it
I cannot get anything
to take place in my mind
while my yard
is drying up
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 9 May 1664.
Occupational hazard
You learned to be watchful, you did
as you were told: ate clean,
abstained from drink while carrying
them to term. The pressure you once felt
against your ribcage has changed to anxious,
constant ticking— Even as they’re grown,
you worry about their happiness (are they
happy?), about their heartbreak; if they have
what they need to make the rent this month,
if they’ve learned to pull back from regret
and save each dream. How long a lifetime now?
You pause to take the last serving from the plate,
you lie in the dark; you wait to be let back into that
country of billowing sheets and untroubled sleep.