Via Negativa

March 29, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Dust to dust

(Lord’s day). Waked as I used to do betimes, but being Sunday and very cold I lay long, it raining and snowing very hard, which I did never think it would have done any more this year.
Up and to church, home to dinner. After dinner in comes Mr. Moore, and sat and talked with us a good while; among other things telling me, that my Lord nor he are under apprehensions of the late discourse in the House of Commons, concerning resumption of Crowne lands, which I am very glad of.
He being gone, up to my chamber, where my wife and Ashwell and I all the afternoon talking and laughing, and by and by I a while to my office, reading over some papers which I found in my man William’s chest of drawers, among others some old precedents concerning the practice of this office heretofore, which I am glad to find and shall make use of, among others an oath, which the Principal Officers were bound to swear at their entrance into their offices, which I would be glad were in use still.
So home and fell hard to make up my monthly accounts, letting my family go to bed after prayers. I staid up long, and find myself, as I think, fully worth 670l.. So with good comfort to bed, finding that though it be but little, yet I do get ground every month. I pray God it may continue so with me.

Sunday snow
on the crow of ash
I found

I swear hard
letting prayer go
to ground

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 29 March 1663.

March 29, 2026March 29, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Between the Fantail Shrimp and Sea Cucumber

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

At the table next to us in the dim
sum restaurant, there's a young couple

out on a date. They lean over the menus
and toward each other, as if bringing

their heads closer will help toward
consensus. She's cute and dimpled:

hoop earrings, high ponytail bobbing 
like a friendly otter. Aura confident

as the lilt in her voice. Two smiling,
long-haired waiters circle the table: they

went to school with the girl. She claps 
her hands at their excellent suggestions— 

fantail shrimp, black mushrooms with sea 
cucumber; pan-fried noodles, turnip cake. 

They flirt, knowing exactly what they're 
doing, while the boyfriend laughs politely 

and nods his head. Carts rattle past 
like vessels bearing miracles from other 

worlds. We dip dumplings into pools of chili 
oil, ears bent to banter and conversation, 

knowing full well the performance of desire 
loves an audience. Some of us are struck 

with recognition, some pretend this 
has nothing to do with us at all.

March 28, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Walking it back

Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me, and though a very cold day and high wind, yet I took him by land to Deptford, my common walk, where I did some little businesses, and so home again walking both forwards and backwards, as much along the street as we could to save going by water.
So home, and after being a little while hearing Ashwell play on the tryangle, to my office, and there late, writing a chiding letter — to my poor father about his being so unwilling to come to an account with me, which I desire he might do, that I may know what he spends, and how to order the estate so as to pay debts and legacys as far as may be. So late home to supper and to bed.

in high wind I took
my common walk

walking backwards
the street going by me

so I might know
what ends up

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 28 March 1663.

March 28, 2026March 28, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

On Nosebleeds

Even if under the surface there's always
a lot going on, my friends insist I look 
so zen— like a buddha who's trascended 
this vale of suffering, another quips. 
Which I reject, because even if the buddha
may have reincarnated into this form— my form—
the fact that I'm still here means that I'm
nowhere near nirvana. If I've managed to exude
a semblance of calm, perhaps it's because
I had a little bit of early training. For instance, 
I got nosebleeds every day until I reached third 
grade: the sudden jets of blood, the bright taste 
of copper in my throat in the middle of reading,
adding, or listening. Someone would pinch
the bridge of my nose with a wad of paper towel, 
and take me to the principal's office so I wouldn't 
disturb the classroom lesson. The surprise 
of the first time lapses a little more into 
the ordinary after each repetition. One day
something spills down the front of your white
blouse, and each day after you learn how 
to manage. Adulthood is pretty much a long
practice in composure— learning to lean
forward a little bit without panicking,
until something in the body rights itself 
and the frightening gush peters out, 
after which you clean up the mess.

March 28, 2026 by Dave Bonta

State of the union

Up betimes and at my office all the morning, at noon to the Exchange, and there by appointment met my uncles Thomas and Wight, and from thence with them to a tavern, and there paid my uncle Wight three pieces of gold for himself, my aunt, and their son that is dead, left by my uncle Robert, and read over our agreement with my uncle Thomas and the state of our debts and legacies, and so good friendship I think is made up between us all, only we have the worst of it in having so much money to pay. Thence I to the Exchequer again, and thence with Creed into Fleet Street, and calling at several places about business; in passing, at the Hercules pillars he and I dined though late, and thence with one that we found there, a friend of Captain Ferrers I used to meet at the playhouse, they would have gone to some gameing house, but I would not but parted, and staying a little in Paul’s Churchyard, at the foreign Bookseller’s looking over some Spanish books, and with much ado keeping myself from laying out money there, as also with them, being willing enough to have gone to some idle house with them, I got home, and after a while at my office, to supper, and to bed.

ice all morning
by appointment
with the dead

the state of our debts
is made up
between us all

we have the worst
having so much
as a pillar of the playhouse

in church a foreign book
with much ado
laying out supper

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 27 March 1663.

March 27, 2026March 27, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Collective

A smack of jellyfish drifts in
on the tide, translucent and pulsing 
but never second-guessing what they are
or what they can do. A crash of rhinos
doesn't tiptoe through life. A murmuration
of starlings is hundreds of bodies swerving
and dispersing at the same time with no 
script. Can we be as a flock, move 
seamlessly both alone and when we gather? 
A murder of crows rises above the trash 
bins in the parking lot. We blunder and 
snipe, hide our thoughts from ourselves 
and each other. And at night, a parliament 
of owls passes judgment from on high.

March 26, 2026March 26, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Old World, New World

Old World, New World, metaphors we made 
for the colonies we outgrew and the colonies 

we set sail for. People say we are at that 
kind of transition again— feeling the world 

we thought we knew splitting open like a seed 
pod under pressure. So much failure, exhaustion, 

uncertainty, and war. Drones fly over gardens, 
tankers barrel through straits on fire. So much 

has changed. Or so much has merely changed
hands. Yet power stays put. Spoils of many 

conquests, we've been trying to survive in
the margins, in the aftermath of the last 

aftermath and the last. Imagine freeing river and
forest and plain from maps into their old names.

March 26, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Godly

Up betimes and to my office, leaving my wife in bed to take her physique, myself also not being out of some pain to-day by some cold that I have got by the sudden change of the weather from hot to cold.
This day is five years since it pleased God to preserve me at my being cut of the stone, of which I bless God I am in all respects well. Only now and then upon taking cold I have some pain, but otherwise in very good health always. But I could not get my feast to be kept to-day as it used to be, because of my wife’s being ill and other disorders by my servants being out of order.
This morning came a new cook-maid at 4l. per annum, the first time I ever did give so much, but we hope it will be nothing lost by keeping a good cook. She did live last at my Lord Monk’s house, and indeed at dinner did get what there was very prettily ready and neat for me, which did please me much.
This morning my uncle Thomas was with me according to agreement, and I paid him the 50l., which was against my heart to part with, and yet I must be contented; I used him very kindly, and I desire to continue so voyd of any discontent as to my estate, that I may follow my business the better.
At the Change I met him again, with intent to have met with my uncle Wight to have made peace with him, with whom by my long absence I fear I shall have a difference, but he was not there, so we missed. All the afternoon sat at the office about business till 9 or 10 at night, and so dispatch business and home to supper and to bed.
My maid Susan went away to-day, I giving her something for her lodging and diet somewhere else a while that I might have room for my new maid.

an old cold god
is good for my heart
to part with

and yet
I have met in meth
room for new

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 26 March 1662/63.

March 25, 2026March 25, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Delivery

Coming back from the dentist, half my face
still numb from the lidocaine and epinephrine
injected in my gums, I listen to a woman 
on the radio who's telling the story of 
giving birth to her baby at home. What's
remarkable is that she was around three
weeks over her due date. Her midwife
tells her to believe her body knows
what it is supposed to do, and her un-
born child too. All turns out well
in that story: a child weighing over 
ten pounds, with ten fingers and toes.
Would I have been as brave, as trusting? 
There was a time in the annals of medical 
science when it was believed babies knew 
no pain. I cringe, imagining the trauma 
and shock when they might have needed
surgery. The woman on the radio repeats, 
the body is wise and knows what to do. 
There is instinct, and there is also pain.
I know from experience the numbness
in my mouth will wear off in a few 
hours, after which I can eat and drink
but carefully, since I only have 
temporaries over my back molars.
The body is wise in many ways. But
the body breaks, can be broken.
The body also needs so much support. 
The dental assistants talk about making 
a mold for constructing the bridge 
I need. They've modeled it after 
the shape of that part of the interior 
of my mouth, a wet cave they flush dry
with air every few minutes. One shines 
her headlight over a spot that needs 
more buildup, and suctions up any 
loose material. I am told to return 
in two weeks for the delivery 
of the final product.

March 25, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Flight risk

(Lady-day). Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning, at noon dined and to the Exchange, and thence to the Sun Tavern, to my Lord Rutherford, and dined with him, and some others, his officers, and Scotch gentlemen, of fine discourse and education. My Lord used me with great respect, and discoursed upon his business as with one that he did esteem of, and indeed I do believe that this garrison is likely to come to something under him. By and by he went away, forgetting to take leave of me, my back being turned, looking upon the aviary, which is there very pretty, and the birds begin to sing well this spring.
Thence home and to my office till night, reading over and consulting upon the book and Ruler that I bought this morning of Browne concerning the lyne of numbers, in which I find much pleasure.
This evening came Captain Grove about hiring ships for Tangier. I did hint to him my desire that I could make some lawfull profit thereof, which he promises that he will tell me of all that he gets and that I shall have a share, which I did not demand, but did silently consent to it, and money I perceive something will be got thereby.
At night Mr. Bland came and sat with me at my office till late, and so I home and to bed. This day being washing day and my maid Susan ill, or would be thought so, put my house so out of order that we had no pleasure almost in anything, my wife being troubled thereat for want of a good cook-maid, and moreover I cannot have my dinner as I ought in memory of my being cut for the stone, but I must have it a day or two hence.

up where the sun is
like something underway

forgetting to turn the birds
into a line of numbers

I find a full
but silent land

with me in any memory
of being stone

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 25 March 1662/63.