Interrogation

Sam Pepys and me

(Easter day). Having my old black suit new furbished, I was pretty neat in clothes to-day, and my boy, his old suit new trimmed, very handsome. To church in the morning, and so home, leaving the two Sir Williams to take the Sacrament, which I blame myself that I have hitherto neglected all my life, but once or twice at Cambridge. Dined with my wife, a good shoulder of veal well dressed by Jane, and handsomely served to table, which pleased us much, and made us hope that she will serve our turn well enough.
My wife and I to church in the afternoon, and seated ourselves, she below me, and by that means the precedence of the pew, which my Lady Batten and her daughter takes, is confounded; and after sermon she and I did stay behind them in the pew, and went out by ourselves a good while after them, which we judge a very fine project hereafter to avoyd contention.
So my wife and I to walk an hour or two on the leads, which begins to be very pleasant, the garden being in good condition.
So to supper, which is also well served in. We had a lobster to supper, with a crabb Pegg Pen sent my wife this afternoon, the reason of which we cannot think; but something there is of plot or design in it, for we have a little while carried ourselves pretty strange to them.
After supper to bed.

a black suit
his hand on my shoulder

as we seat ourselves
in the void

which begins to be a garden
with nothing in it


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 30 March 1662.

World Without End

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Here you are, cast 
once again in the role
of the afflicted— in some

stories, you spin
something coarse into gold.
In others, you count

the uncountable— a driveway
pooling with gravel, a tray
of mixed seed to separate

by color and size. Mostly
you have no quarrel with
the material— grain and rock

are quiet and uncomplaining.
You think you learn something
— how nothing's truly

without end, how the impossible
is maybe the poorer cousin
of the infinite, which

being what it is,
can never be exhausted
in the first place.

Occupied territory

Sam Pepys and me

At the office all the morning. Then to the Wardrobe, and there coming late dined with the people below. Then up to my Lady, and staid two hours talking with her about her family business with great content and confidence in me. So calling at several places I went home, where my people are getting the house clean against to-morrow. I to the office and wrote several letters by post, and so home and to bed.

the morning war
with the people below

a family calling
a place home

where my people are getting
a tomorrow


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 29 March 1662.

In Conversation

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
You start and stop and start again, not knowing
where to begin. You try to think of it in terms
of a conversation, but even then someone

has to hand over a thread and wait for the signal
to begin. You try to think of it as a game—
start and stop and start again, not knowing

where to go, afraid meander will turn to blunder.
And you want conversation that means something,
not conversation with a general "someone"

who could be anyone and not the one you want
to talk to. You stir the substance of memory:
start and stop and start again, not knowing

what you'll turn up, where it will lead—
you know it goes deep, down to the water table.
That's where you seek the roots of conversation.

When you stand at the lip of the well and call,
only your voice bounces back and echoes. Do it again,
start and stop and start again, not knowing but knowing:
in conversation you'd talk with someone besides yourself.

Ham

Sam Pepys and me

(Good Friday). At home all the morning, and dined with my wife, a good dinner. At my office all the afternoon. At night to my chamber to read and sing, and so to supper and to bed.

Good Friday at home
a good ham
to sing to


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 28 March 1662.

Empty-Handed

given back
to the forest
my walking stick

missing you
the blue
of a distant lake

almost April
maples redding up
for the breeze

walking home
the shush
that crushed stone makes

a raven’s croak
there’s nowhere to hide
from these blues

Self Portrait, with Ouroboros and Night Sky

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The man who helped prune the branches
of the fig mounded its lopped-off limbs
next to the recycling bin. That was two
weeks ago. But now on the tree, the ends
are putting forth little flames of green,
signals of a new season of growing.
No matter and in spite of what we do,
despite what happens, the hidden mechanism
of spring reasserts itself— Imagine if night
never turned into day; if the parent outlived
the child, if the sea swallowed then spat
itself out at the very place it began.
It's said snakes don't feel pain
when they molt. But sometimes, old injuries,
infections, or even weather can prevent
shedding. Over time, stuck in its own skin,
it might wither away from blindness and
malnutrition. In solitude, I crave
sweet occupations that can be enjoyed
with others. When I am with others,
sometimes my spirit turns restless,
desiring only the intimacy of silence,
the absence of expectation. Perhaps that's
kind of what people mean when they say I
don't know what to do with myself.
Either way, we're full of questions. Night
after night, the skies fill with a language
we are still trying to understand.

War News

One of those crystal-clear days in early spring when you can fool yourself into thinking it’s warm because the sun is so bright. I hike up to a favorite spot for a thermos of tea. I’m reading War News II: 12/9/2023 to 6/3/2024, an excellent and searing collection by Beau Beausoleil.

war news
the cold boulder
at my back

Walking home, I have a terrible thought: in a time of great lies, words are losing their power to change hearts, including our own, and therefore those of us who are religious, however obscurely so, ought to consider switching from prayer to sacrifice. Something more than performative gestures must be at stake.

killdeerkilldeer
the smell of cow manure
somehow sweet

Inclement

Sam Pepys and me

Early Sir G. Carteret, both Sir Williams and I by coach to Deptford, it being very windy and rainy weather, taking a codd and some prawnes in Fish Street with us.
We settled to pay the Guernsey, a small ship, but come to a great deal of money, it having been unpaid ever since before the King came in, by which means not only the King pays wages while the ship has lain still, but the poor men have most of them been forced to borrow all the money due for their wages before they receive it, and that at a dear rate, God knows, so that many of them had very little to receive at the table, which grieved me to see it.
To dinner, very merry. Then Sir George to London, and we again to the pay, and that done by coach home again and to the office, doing some business, and so home and to bed.

wind and rain
taking the only table

and I home
to a mean bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 27 March 1662.

Numbered

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Mother Superior is out again, 
I joke when my greys start to show:
band barely an eighth of an inch,
edge of a wimple framing forehead
and temples. Why don't you just
let it go
, my daughters ask, instead
of buying box dye— Platinum's trendy
these days. The average human has
over a hundred thousand hairs
or hair follicles, and about five
million over the entire body.
I think of long-ago afternoons
when my mother lay on the couch,
pushed tweezers into my hands
and asked me to pluck her strays
while she drowsed. She'd pay me
five centavos for every short,
wiry one, which I lay on upholstery
fabric like tally marks. She'd part
my hair in the middle and clip it back
on each side before I left for school;
and stroked my head as she read me
to sleep— I'd stretch like a cat.
Even the very hairs on your head
are numbered, says a bible verse. But
they can also grow back, until the day
they might begin to thin, or stop al-
together at an indefinite point in time.