Back then I had no words
for the hands that emerged
from the pressed darkness of a crowded
movie theatre— all of us behind
the balcony rail, standing room only,
slapstick on the screen as the hero
clutched his boxer shorts and hopped
from the heat of the hornet’s nest
bulging on his behind. How did my
blouse buttons become undone?
Instinctively my elbows became
shards, became flailing
as the roars and laughter
rose in waves in the theatre.
I can write this now with no
guttering sound from my throat,
no constriction in my airways,
though sometimes the simplest
gesture I make still undresses me.
What not to give as a Valentine, according to my father
Never a pair of shoes—
that’s like kicking
your love. If you must,
or if she asks you anyway,
stuff some money bills
in each toe box.
Not lingerie—
perhaps because 20
years her senior,
even after 15 years
of marriage, he never
really got it right.
Not a vacuum cleaner—
especially not after
the Electrolux salesman
who knocked at the door
offered a demo for (he
assumed) his daughter.
In response to Via Negativa: February idyll.
February idyll
Lay very long with my wife in bed talking with great pleasure, and then rose. This morning Mr. Cole, our timber merchant, sent me five couple of ducks. Our maid Susan is very ill, and so the whole trouble of the house lies upon our maid Mary, who do it very contentedly and mighty well, but I am sorry she is forced to it.
Dined upon one couple of ducks to-day, and after dinner my wife and I by coach to Tom’s, and I to the Temple to discourse with my cozen Roger Pepys about my law business, and so back again, it being a monstrous thaw after the long great frost, so that there is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that.
Took my wife home, and I to my office. Find myself pretty well but fearful of cold, and so to my office, where late upon business; Mr. Bland sitting with me, talking of my Lord Windsor’s being come home from Jamaica, unlooked-for; which makes us think that these young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad, though it is said that he could not have his health there, but hath razed a fort of the King of Spain upon Cuba, which is considerable, or said to be so, for his honour. So home to supper and to bed. This day I bought the second part of Dr. Bates’s Elenchus, which reaches to the fall of Richard, and no further, for which I am sorry. This evening my wife had a great mind to choose Valentines against to-morrow, I Mrs. Clerke, or Pierce, she Mr. Hunt or Captain Ferrers, but I would not because of getting charge both to me for mine and to them for her, which did not please her.
a couple of ducks content to eat
in the cold wind
this ache is my Valentine
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 13 February 1662/63.
Vaccination
Up and find myself pretty well, and so to the office, and there all the morning. Rose at noon and home to dinner in my green chamber, having a good fire. Thither there came my wife’s brother and brought Mary Ashwell with him, whom we find a very likely person to please us, both for person, discourse, and other qualitys. She dined with us, and after dinner went away again, being agreed to come to us about three weeks or a month hence. My wife and I well pleased with our choice, only I pray God I may be able to maintain it.
Then came an old man from Mr. Povy, to give me some advice about his experience in the stone, which I [am] beholden to him for, and was well pleased with it, his chief remedy being Castle soap in a posset.
Then in the evening to the office, late writing letters and my Journall since Saturday, and so home to supper and to bed.
the fire brought
ash with it
as God may maintain a stone
his chief remedy
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 12 February 1662/63.
Saturday Catalog
14 tinsel balls leftover in a bowl
from Christmas. A pot of mint
tea cooling on the table. Chatter
in the air like a light pull just
out of reach. Empty double shell
from cold pills taken yesterday.
Imprint of boots on melting snow.
Turmeric yarn I loop and loop
around a pair of bamboo needles.
Small dry patch of skin
on the edge of my lip,
a continent about to defect.
Ghazal with second thoughts
with lines from Luisa A. Igloria’s “Depth of field” and ending with a line from The Book of Flight by José Angel Araguz
In the evening he wants to sink into sweet dreams, featherbed of thought,
but caffeine too late keeps him awake, careening on the sled of thought.
Naked lady on the half-shell, ancient goddess, just created.
Most demi-gods were born of lust, but Venus, love, was born of thought.
She is excited and keeps interrupting you by accident.
Forgive her this froth – she has just tapped the barrelhead of thought.
Twisted into a simulacrum of a lotus blossom, you sweep
tracks of uninvited guests away, erase any tread of thought.
Augustine determined that humans have souls because our skulls are
too small to fit the things we can envision, the wingspread of thought.
At last, / there are times / when it can actually / be as simple as that.
How often you long for a return to childhood joy instead of thought!
Here, Halima reads poems – will they guide her like Hansel and Gretel?
This page is a tablecloth, words the crumbs from the dark bread of thought.
Niyebe
“…what kind of night
began as a cell” ~ D. Bonta
~ In memoriam, Vivencio Raymundo
Tonight, a snowfall
beginning to cover the sidewalk,
outlining the branches of the twin
Japanese maples in front.
Patches of white erasing the dark
slate of roofs, one after the other
along the avenue— until each
is as a blank waiting
to be filled. In the yard, mounded
tops of hedges— like trays of rice
cakes on platters of leaf. The radio
warns of ice on roads and bridges.
I think of Gogol’s story
about the poor clerk Akaky;
remember how, in my class
once, a student who had not
read the assignment mumbled
from the depths of his seat:
What’s the big deal? It’s only
an overcoat. I wheeled around
in an almost rage, said
something about words and lives
meaning more than allegory.
What is it about the cold
that makes everything feel
so distant? It’s almost like
we have to light fires
in our very hands.
Niyebe: Snow [Filipino]
In response to Via Negativa: In/mates.
In/mates
Took a clyster in the morning and rose in the afternoon. My wife and I dined on a pullet and I eat heartily, having eat nothing since Sunday but water gruel and posset drink, but must needs say that our new maid Mary has played her part very well in her readiness and discretion in attending me, of which I am very glad.
In the afternoon several people came to see me, my uncle Thomas, Mr. Creed, Sir J. Minnes (who has been, God knows to what end, mighty kind to me and careful of me in my sickness). At night my wife read Sir H. Vane’s tryall to me, which she began last night, and I find it a very excellent thing, worth reading, and him to have been a very wise man.
So to supper and to bed.
my wife and I dine on a heart
nothing but gruel and need
who knows what kind of night
began as a cell
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 11 February 1662/63.
Depth of field
Not everything can be brought
into a sphere of perfect
understanding—
The father who left many times
in the night, as if each time
was the last time.
The mother who collected
her strings of beautiful
hard tears.
And you too, and you, and you,
hiding in the bathroom
under the sink
until the terrible
waves of wind
have passed.
What is your favorite
movie? —someone asks.
There is one
which opens with a shot
of lemons on a table.
At last,
there are times
when it can actually
be as simple as that.
Invalid
In the morning most of my disease, that is, itching and pimples, were gone. In the morning visited by Mr. Coventry and others, and very glad I am to see that I am so much inquired after and my sickness taken notice of as I did. I keep my bed all day and sweat again at night, by which I expect to be very well to-morrow.
This evening Sir W. Warren came himself to the door and left a letter and box for me, and went his way. His letter mentions his giving me and my wife a pair of gloves; but, opening the box, we found a pair of plain white gloves for my hand, and a fair state dish of silver, and cup, with my arms, ready cut upon them, worth, I believe, about 18l., which is a very noble present, and the best I ever had yet.
So after some contentful talk with my wife, she to bed and I to rest.
in the morning of my disease
I itch and pimple
sickness came for me in a pair
of plain white gloves
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 10 February 1662/63.