Remember

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
~ after Joy Harjo


Remember your last name,
where that thread came from,
connecting you to the one who came
before, and the one even farther back.
Remember your middle name,
the one that tied you to the womb
before the cord was clamped at two
ends and cut, then the flash of light
and your mouth opening into its first
cry. And remember your first name,
how someone plucked it out of a page
perhaps, or a list, or a story with
a face a mouth a nose upturned
like yours, eyebrows whose crests
touched a universe of hopes.
Remember all your names now,
for the moment you'll stand
in a window well trying to remember
how you're called, how to call.

Happy feet

Sam Pepys and me

Up and to the office, and there with Mr. Coventry sat all the morning, only we two, the rest being absent or sick. Dined at home with my wife upon a good dish of neats’ feet and mustard, of which I made a good meal. All the afternoon alone at my office and among my workmen, who (I mean the joyners) have even ended my dining room, and will be very handsome and to my full content.
In the evening at my office about one business or another, and so home and to bed, with my mind every day more and more quiet since I come to follow my business, and shall be very happy indeed when the trouble of my house is over.

only we two
feet among hands
full of a quiet business
shall be happy


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 25 October 1662.

A Marketing Bot Reaches Out in Vain (a partially found poem)

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Are you ignoring my message or are we
in the middle of some strange
literary cliffhanger?

I'm pitching real readers, real reviews,
real visibility, and you're giving me
the silent treatment like I'm asking you
for your Netflix password.

Reading your work felt like stepping
into a space where memory, language,
and feeling are held with such
tenderness and clarity that they
reshape the air around them.

What struck me most is how your voice
moves between sharpness and gentleness
the way a single line can evoke
both joy and ache in the same
breath.

Poetry that lingers
deserves a wider audience.

I promised myself I would't turn
into that person who follows up...
but here I am, waving like a slightly
unhinged fan at a book signing.


Bookish

Sam Pepys and me

After with great pleasure lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife (for we have been for some years now, and at present more and more, a very happy couple, blessed be God), I got up and to my office, and having done there some business, I by water, and then walked to Deptford to discourse with Mr. Lowly and Davis about my late conceptions about keeping books of the distinct works done in the yards, against which I find no objection but their ignorance and unwillingness to do anything of pains and what is out of their ordinary dull road, but I like it well, and will proceed in it. So home and dined there with my wife upon a most excellent dish of tripes of my own directing, covered with mustard, as I have heretofore seen them done at my Lord Crew’s, of which I made a very great meal, and sent for a glass of wine for myself, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who continues bed-rid in great pain, and hence to the Treasury to Sir J. Minnes paying off of tickets, and at night home, and in my study (after seeing Sir W. Batten, who also continues ill) I fell to draw out my conceptions about books for the clerk that cheques in the yard to keep according to the distinct works there, which pleases me very well, and I am confident it will be of great use. At 9 at night home, and to supper, and to bed.
This noon came to see me and sat with me a little after dinner Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who tells me how ill things go at Court: that the King do show no countenance to any that belong to the Queen; nor, above all, to such English as she brought over with her, or hath here since, for fear they should tell her how he carries himself to Mrs. Palmer; insomuch that though he has a promise, and is sure of being made her chyrurgeon, he is at a loss what to do in it, whether to take it or no, since the King’s mind is so altered in favour to all her dependants, whom she is fain to let go back into Portugall (though she brought them from their friends against their wills with promise of preferment), without doing any thing for them. But he tells me that her own physician did tell him within these three days that the Queen do know how the King orders things, and how he carries himself to my Lady Castlemaine and others, as well as any body; but though she hath spirit enough, yet seeing that she do no good by taking notice of it, for the present she forbears it in policy; of which I am very glad. But I pray God keep us in peace; for this, with other things, do give great discontent to all people.

after years of books
I find their sand in my glass

my pen continues to draw
on the well of night

a surgeon at a loss what to do
with her own body


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 24 October 1662.

Electric Pig

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
We could never— how could we know?
At first it's as if we have all
the time and space in the world.
That room with too-high ceilings,
the old but beautiful claw-footed
tub; windows without insulation,
radiators with globs of cream
paint from the landlord's yearly
re-do. Only in one apartment did we
remember having a trash compactor
in the kitchen sink. The novelty
of grinding down little fish
bones, leftover strings of bean
with a finger-push of something
that looks like a light switch.
The sound of that maw churning
things to pulp, like a pig in a pen
underneath the floor. For the last
dozen years, we've lived without
such a convenience. There's a hand-
lettered sign next to the tap
saying No garbage disposal. Do you
remember the home repair contractor's
face, almost accusatory? He said
There are rice grains near your sewer
cleanout. Boxes of books weigh heavy
as bricks. There are mugs from every
vacation, racks groaning with clothes.
I was surprised to hear the famous
tidying expert admit on radio it's OK
to hang on to things still meaningful
for you. Yes, this beautiful golden
light trickles away so quickly.
And yes, we too will go.

Reprieve

Sam Pepys and me

Up and among my workmen, and so to the office, and there sitting all the morning we stept all out to visit Sir W. Batten, who it seems has not been well all yesterday, but being let blood is now pretty well, and Sir W. Pen after office I went to see, but he continues in great pain of the gout and in bed, cannot stir hand nor foot but with great pain. So to my office all the evening putting things public and private in order, and so at night home and to supper and to bed, finding great content since I am come to follow my business again, which God preserve in me.

among men of ice
let snow continue

into the evening
putting things public

and private to bed
in a tent of God


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 23 October 1662.

The Longest Selfie

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
They've been at it 
for the last fifteen
minutes at least,
and still going—
two girls crossing
and uncrossing
their legs encased
in tights, leaning
forward then back
against the coated
steel bench as a brisk
wind teases their locks.
The sun angles and they
angle an arm away,
the merest tilt
of the phone.
Everything is
angles. Everything
is spontaneous
but composed. Bent
over the screen they
check the images
just made; swipe
left on the screen,
then right, then left,
deciding delete, delete,
delete. Just one more.
There. Perfect.

Who is who

Sam Pepys and me

Up, and carrying my wife and her brother to Covent Garden, near their father’s new lodging, by coach, I to my Lord Sandwich’s, who receives me now more and more kindly, now he sees that I am respected in the world; and is my most noble patron.
Here I staid and talked about many things, with my Lord and Mr. Povy, being there about Tangier business, for which the Commission is a taking out.
Hence (after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I met here about Mrs. Butler’s portion, he do persist to say that it will be worth 600l. certain, when he knows as well as I do now that it is but 400l., and so I told him, but he is a fool, and has made fools of us). So I by water to my brother’s, and thence to Mr. Smith’s, where I was, last night, and there by appointment met Mrs. Butler, with whom I plainly discoursed and she with me. I find she will give but 400l., and no more, and is not willing to do that without a joynture, which she expects and I will not grant for that portion, and upon the whole I find that Cooke has made great brags on both sides, and so has abused us both, but know not how to help it, for I perceive she had much greater expectations of Tom’s house and being than she finds. But however we did break off the business wholly, but with great love and kindness between her and me, and would have been glad we had known one another’s minds sooner, without being misguided by this fellow to both our shames and trouble. For I find her a very discreet, sober woman, and her daughter, I understand and believe, is a good lady; and if portions did agree, though she finds fault with Tom’s house, and his bad imperfection in his speech, I believe we should well agree in other matters. After taking a kind farewell, I to Tom’s, and there did give him a full account of this sad news, with which I find he is much troubled, but do appear to me to be willing to be guided herein, and apprehends that it is not for his good to do otherwise, and so I do persuade [him] to follow his business again, and I hope he will, but for Cooke’s part and Dr. Pepys, I shall know them for two fools another time.
Hence, it raining hard, by coach home, being first trimmed here by Benier, who being acquainted with all the players, do tell me that Betterton is not married to Ianthe, as they say; but also that he is a very sober, serious man, and studious and humble, following of his studies, and is rich already with what he gets and saves, and then to my office till late, doing great deal of business, and settling my mind in pretty good order as to my business, though at present they are very many. So home and to bed.
This night was buried, as I hear by the bells at Barking Church, my poor Morena, whose sickness being desperate, did kill her poor father; and he being dead for sorrow, she could not recover, nor desire to live, but from that time do languish more and more, and so is now dead and buried.

who sees the world
as it is
without expectations

who would know
one another’s minds
without imperfect speech

taking a kind of sad news for rain
who is rich with what
he saves in sorrow


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 22 October 1662.

Body Scan

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The hair on top of my head feels thin— 
and it looks visibly thinner in photos
people have taken, where I have my back to
the camera. Is it vain that I worry about
what it will look like, as increasingly
the clearing gets bigger and wider with time?
Will it be a little pond on which gnats
will skate in the heat of summer, a shallow
saucer of drought the birds will avoid?
I remember being told as a young mother
about the soft spot on the head: the fontanel,
where the bones in a newborn's scalp have not
knit together tightly yet. Maybe I am unknitting
myself at the top. Maybe that's what people mean
when they talk about becoming soft in the head.

Sometimes I dream the light
shining through there falls down
a great shaft without end.

Government worker

Sam Pepys and me

Up, and while I was dressing myself, my brother Tom being there I did chide him for his folly in abusing himself about the match, for I perceive he do endeavour all he can to get her, and she and her friends to have more than her portion deserves, which now from 6 or 700l. is come to 450l.. I did by several steps shew Tom how he would not be 100l. the better for her according to the ways he took to joynture her. After having done with him to the office, and there all the morning, and in the middle of our sitting my workmen setting about the putting up of my rails upon my leads, Sir J. Minnes did spy them and fell a-swearing, which I took no notice of, but was vexed, and am still to the very heart for it, for fear it should put him upon taking the closett and my chamber from me, which I protest I am now afraid of. But it is my very great folly to be so much troubled at these trifles, more than at the loss of 100l., or things of greater concernment; but I forget the lesson I use to preach to others of τὰ ἐφ ἡμιν χγ τὰ γχ ἐφ ἡμῖν.
After dinner to my office with my head and heart full of troublesome business, and thence by water with Mr. Smith, to Mr. Lechmore, the Counsellor at the Temple, about Field’s business; and he tells me plainly that, there being a verdict against me, there is no help for it, but it must proceed to judgment. It is 30l. damage to me for my joining with others in committing Field to prison, we being not justices of the Peace in the City, though in Middlesex; this troubled me, but I hope the King will make it good to us.
Thence to Mr. Smith, the scrivener, upon Ludgate Hill, to whom Mrs. Butler do committ her business concerning her daughter and my brother. He tells me her daughter’s portion is but 400l., at which I am more troubled than before; and they find fault that his house is too little. So after I had told him my full mind, I went away to meet again to-morrow, but I believe the business will be broke off, which for Tom’s sake I am much grieved for, but it cannot be helped without his ruin. Thence to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well again, and we read over and discoursed about Mrs. Goldsborough’s business, and her son coming by my appointment thither, I did tell him our resolution as to her having her estate reconveyed to her.
Hither also came my brother, and before Mr. Moore I did advise and counsel him about his match, and how we had all been abused by Mr. Cooke’s folly. So home and to my office, and there settled many businesses, and so home and to supper, and so to bed, Sir W. Pen being still in great pain.

out to get more
than the joy of middlemen

I spy on the very heart
for fear it should close

from so much loss
I forget the lesson

more joining with others
more troubled than before

they believe in ruin
the state-eyed
I am unsettled


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 21 October 1662.