My husband, who cooks on weekends,
goes on the internet to find out when
weekends became a thing. In ancient Rome,
every eighth day was market day. During
the Han dynasty, officials took every fifth
day off to rest and wash their hair.
In the early nineteenth century, factory
owners and laborers came to an agreement
that work could stop at two on Saturday
afternoon, as long as people would come
to work sober on Monday. It wasn't until
1940 that the Fair Labor Standards Act
formalized the forty-hour workweek
and the two-day weekend. Some people
wanted more time for beer, others
for prayers. Some people sit idling
at their desks, then promptly shut down
their computers at 5:01. It's as if
the ceiling had changed to a different
color. Some colleagues advise me to ignore
work email on weekends, even when my Inbox
column glows with insistent green dots
at 10 PM. My youngest daughter says,
productivity and optimalization are concepts
of the capitalist machine. Why shouldn't rest
also be legislated? Heat up leftovers, or make
a small meal from scratch. Make tea, write
in your notebook, make valentines with your
second-grader. Think of a nap as an achievement,
as well as the whole history behind your being where
you are: here, when it could have been otherwise.
Trimming the fat
Up and to my office, whither by agreement Mr. Coventry came before the time of sitting to confer about preparing an account of the extraordinary charge of the Navy since the King’s coming, more than is properly to be applied and called the Navy charge.
So by and by we sat, and so till noon. Then home to dinner, and in the afternoon some of us met again upon something relating to the victualling, and thence to my writing of letters late, and making my Alphabet to my new Navy book very pretty. And so after writing to my father by the post about the endeavour to come to a composition with my uncle, though a very bad one, desiring him to be contented therewith, I went home to supper and to bed.
I am preparing
an extraordinary rope
call the thin letters
in my alphabet
to a pretty position
with my I
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 7 February 1662/63.
Old timers
Up and to my office about business, examining people what they could swear against Field, and the whole is, that he has called us cheating rogues and cheating knaves, for which we hope to be even with him.
Thence to Lincoln’s Inn Fields; and it being too soon to go to dinner, I walked up and down, and looked upon the outside of the new theatre, now a-building in Covent Garden, which will be very fine. And so to a bookseller’s in the Strand, and there bought Hudibras again, it being certainly some ill humour to be so against that which all the world cries up to be the example of wit; for which I am resolved once again to read him, and see whether I can find it or no. So to Mr. Povy’s, and there found them at dinner, and dined there, there being, among others, Mr. Williamson, Latin Secretary, who, I perceive, is a pretty knowing man and a scholler, but, it may be, thinks himself to be too much so. Thence, after dinner, to the Temple, to my cozen Roger Pepys, where met us my uncle Thomas and his son; and, after many high demands, we at last came to a kind of agreement upon very hard terms, which are to be prepared in writing against Tuesday next. But by the way promising them to pay my cozen Mary’s legacys at the time of her marriage, they afterwards told me that she was already married, and married very well, so that I must be forced to pay it in some time.
My cozen Roger was so sensible of our coming to agreement that he could not forbear weeping, and, indeed, though it is very hard, yet I am glad to my heart that we are like to end our trouble. So we parted for to-night.
And I to my Lord Sandwich and there staid, there being a Committee to sit upon the contract for the Mole, which I dare say none of us that were there understood, but yet they agreed of things as Mr. Cholmely and Sir J. Lawson demanded, who are the undertakers, and so I left them to go on to agree, for I understood it not.
So home, and being called by a coachman who had a fare in him, he carried me beyond the Old Exchange, and there set down his fare, who would not pay him what was his due, because he carried a stranger with him, and so after wrangling he was fain to be content with 6d., and being vexed the coachman would not carry me home a great while, but set me down there for the other 6d., but with fair words he was willing to it, and so I came home and to my office, setting business in order, and so to supper and to bed, my mind being in disorder as to the greatness of this day’s business that I have done, but yet glad that my trouble therein is like to be over.
what cheating rogues we are
already married
to time
that hard heart
like a contract
none of us understood
who are old and strange
in words and days
done over
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 6 February 1662/63.
Everyday Ciphers
There are rooms from which I know I departed
too quickly.
Displacement is its own unstable architecture.
I can never completely erase what was faint
if it was persistent to begin with.
When I take my first clear breath after illness,
the world smells both sharp and tender.
I remember echoes in stairwells, and streetcorners where
small flames were tended in the service of our hungers.
There are flowers that don't recognize boundaries.
We should learn from them that nothing wild is
ever made to be captive.
Breath can rise even from the cracked earth.
Push
There are days when you get
some good traction and the load
you push, though it hasn't gotten
lighter, slides forward. But
there are other days when
the stone doesn't budge.
You make a notch in the earth
with your shoe or find some other
way to prop it up for a while,
so you can nap or go eat
chocolate-covered popcorn
and get your fingers sticky,
which means you'll have to wash up
at the sink, by which time you realize
what you actually want to do is take
a long, hot shower, use the bar of
jasmine soap you were saving for some
forgotten reason. Just a little
time to breathe without bracing
for the next thing to drop,
for the next addition to the weight
you never saw coming. You know
relief can come in the in-between,
uneven spaces, some mercy small
as a smile or a touch of a hand.
Though the weight hasn't grown lighter
you are trying to understand how it
doesn't necessarily mean you have failed
at the carrying, that your life isn't
just the color and shape of this stone.
Learned helplessness
Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, and found it so well done, above what I did expect from my mayde Susan, now Jane is gone, that I did call her in and give her sixpence. Thence walked to the Temple, and there at my cozen Roger Pepys’s chamber met by appointment with my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas, and there I shewing them a true state of my uncle’s estate as he has left it with the debts, &c., lying upon it, we did come to some quiett talk and fair offers against an agreement on both sides, though I do offer quite to the losing of the profit of the whole estate for 8 or 10 years together, yet if we can gain peace, and set my mind at a little liberty, I shall be glad of it. I did give them a copy of this state, and we are to meet tomorrow with their answer.
So walked home, it being a very great frost still, and to my office, there late writing letters of office business, and so home to supper and to bed.
above what I expect
from one wing
lying quiet
I quit losing my mind
at the state we are
still in
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 5 February 1662/63.
Wishes
I've been told to stop apologizing
for things over which no one has
any control. And yet, all these years,
I still can't stop saying I'm sorry
for the circumstances that made
the distances I thought we were
trying in our own way to bridge
now seem insurmountable. To say
I no longer want to have anything
to do with you is a choice, just as
it is to say I would not close that
door completely. Every day, I fan
my wishes out like cards on the table.
That wherever you are, mornings
are gentle and the winds warm; that you
understand your name could never be
spoken in anger. That remembrance
walks behind us quietly, but following.
Schooling
Up early and to Mr. Moore, and thence to Mr. Lovell about my law business, and from him to Paul’s School, it being Apposition-day there. I heard some of their speeches, and they were just as schoolboys’ used to be, of the seven liberal sciences; but I think not so good as ours were in our time. Away thence and to Bow Church, to the Court of Arches, where a judge sits, and his proctors about him in their habits, and their pleadings all in Latin. Here I was sworn to give a true answer to my uncle’s libells, and so paid my fee for swearing, and back again to Paul’s School, and went up to see the head forms posed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but I think they did not answer in any so well as we did, only in geography they did pretty well: Dr. Wilkins and Outram were examiners. So down to the school, where Dr. Crumlum did me much honour by telling many what a present I had made to the school, shewing my Stephanus, in four volumes, cost me 4l. 10s. He also shewed us, upon my desire, an old edition of the grammar of Colett’s, where his epistle to the children is very pretty; and in rehearsing the creed it is said “borne of the cleane Virgin Mary.” Thence with Mr. Elborough (he being all of my old acquaintance that I could meet with here) to a cook’s shop to dinner, but I found him a fool, as he ever was, or worse. Thence to my cozen Roger Pepys and Mr. Phillips about my law businesses, which stand very bad, and so home to the office, where after doing some business I went home, where I found our new mayde Mary, that is come in Jane’s place.
up early to school
a time of lead
I was sworn to answer bells
to answer present
school cost me
the child I was
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 4 February 1662/63.
Table manners
To the office all the morning, at noon to dinner, where Mr. Creed dined with me, and Mr. Ashwell, with whom after dinner I discoursed concerning his daughter coming to live with us. I find that his daughter will be very fit, I think, as any for our turn, but the conditions I know not what they will be, he leaving it wholly to her, which will be agreed on a while hence when my wife sees her. After an hour’s discourse after dinner with them, I to my office again, and there about business of the office till late, and then home to supper and to bed.
to dine well is to live
I will be fit as an urn
I will be who my wife
sees at supper
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 3 February
Expiration Date
The main character in a Dutch
movie announces to everyone:
this is the day she is going
to die. She lies down in her own
bed without a fuss, untroubled,
certain of what will happen.
Perhaps she is done with all
the negotiations, all the upkeep
that life requires of her— done
with farming and raising children,
done with chasing and refusing
sex, patching up quarrels, standing
up to injustice, stretching a pay-
check, bulking up a meal. Done
too with the Sunday suppers in
the garden, the long, earnest
conversations with friends deep
into the night. But how did she know,
how does anyone know? It's not like you're
given a ticket or schedule, a station or
terminal. It's not like a clock on the mantel
that you can hear winding down. But some insist
you will know when it's time— perhaps
when the floating world grows even more
transparent, every bubble brightening
imperceptibly just as it starts to dissolve.

