Category Archives: Pith

God, tapering off of anti-depressants

Proclamations from the hermitage
became fewer and still more desperate
as he sequestered himself from even
the slightest affirmation or critique.

Alone at his worktable, nearly empty
bottle of rye at his feet, he doesn’t
even scribble solutions anymore,
thinking, thus it began, and thus

will it end. From nothing to nothing
again. Freed of the guilt of creation,
he slowly, hesitantly lays his head
in hand, sighing. The telephone rings.

—Todd Young



photo image by Stacey Warde

photo image by Stacey Warde

In June there was a shot—
The screen door banged open
and the race began.

All summer we were in and out
until running was a ceremony
in which we ran back and forth
across the years,
the screen door waving goodbye.

Running, you think:
“We have all summer,
and even a day can seem long.”

Some days summer lasts forever.
Mine banged open and closed.

—Nicholas Campbell

Restless Love Syndrome

PITH.RESTLESS LOVE.YOUNGWe were so in love we couldn’t sleep,
so we got up and went walking in the
severe quiet of the pre-dawn cool, warm
morning, as Paul Weller would have it.

Hand in hand or not, we walked until
we had vanquished our new section
of town. It was ours now because we
were living together, by virtue of my

never leaving. We stopped for a 6am drink
at the 6am bar. The self-proclaimed best
omelet maker in town was there, dosing
himself with gin before the breakfast shift,

some others preparing for work, a couple
of drinkers beginning their long day of self-
sedation. We were the only couple in love,
smugly & newly & in need of this incipient

morning’s cocktail to quell the jitters of
ecstasy & moment. We had our drink
and walked slowly home into the triumphal
sunrise. I remember nothing of the day.

—Todd Young


PITH.BIRD SONG.2015-06-27 20.07.46


For Daniella

Out in the pasture
today i saw
the noted birds
resting upon
the wire clefs, a
beautiful synchronicity
of music,
lilting, rhythmic, transporting,
rising up
into wider spheres,
black flashes of wing
against the deep blue
morning sky,
their song drifting
down upon
summer yellow grasses.

—Stacey Warde

Cayucos, an idyll

pith.cayucos4Apricots are suede loafers, and
black plums are cordovan weejuns,

both of which are indications that
Summer, however foggy it may be

in this tiny beach town, is upon us.
The tourists, in their brightly colored

shorts and aggressive t-shirts
advertising everything they own

and everywhere they’ve been,
descend to the kelp-strewn beach

and set up their tents, their umbrellas,
and their coolers filled with light beer

and candy flavored malt liquor. The
locals grumblingly take the tourists’

money. It is a grudging annual
symbiosis, but the apricots are

delicious, and my suede loafers are
safe from the flip flop wearing hoards.

—Todd Young

god talk in the coffee shop

two earnest
young women sit
at a table across

from each other, drinking coffee,
gazing—dreamy, happy-eyed—
into one another’s faces.

with goon smiles, they
talk of men
and dating and god’s

unconditional love,
how, in the midst
of all the confusions,

despite all the wrong choices,
god still loves us. their
earnest desire to please

god, to check on each
other through probing
questions — “how are you,

really?” — to pray
through their young-woman
hardships fills the coffee shop

like coffee beans
spilling on
a hard floor.

—Stacey Warde