Via Negativa

Planted

Dave Bonta — Sun, 20 Sep 2026 13:39:20 +0000

Up pretty betimes, and after eating something, we set out and I (being willing thereto) went by a mistake with them to St. Ives, and there, it being known that it was their nearer way to London, I took leave of them there, they going straight to London and I to Brampton, where I find my father ill in bed still, and Madam Norbery (whom and her fair daughter and sister I was ashamed to kiss, but did, my lip being sore with riding in the wind and bit with the gnatts), lately come to town, come to see my father and mother, and they after a little stay being gone, I told my father my success. And after dinner my wife and I took horse, and rode with marvellous, and the first and only hour of, pleasure, that ever I had in this estate since I had to do with it, to Brampton woods; and through the wood rode, and gathered nuts in my way, and then at Graffam to an old woman’s house to drink, where my wife used to go; and being in all circumstances highly pleased, and in my wife’s riding and good company at this time, I rode, and she showed me the river behind my father’s house, which is very pleasant, and so saw her home, and I straight to Huntingdon, and there met Mr. Shepley and to the Crown (having sent home my horse by Stankes), and there a barber came and trimmed me, and thence walked to Hinchingbroke, where my Lord and ladies all are just alighted. And so I in among them, and my Lord glad to see me, and the whole company. Here I staid and supped with them, and after a good stay talking, but yet observing my Lord not to be so mightily ingulphed in his pleasure in the country as I expected and hoped, I took leave of them, and after a walk in the courtyard in the dark with Mr. Howe, who tells me that my Lord do not enjoy himself and please himself as he used to do, but will hasten up to London, and that he is resolved to go to Chelsey again, which we are heartily grieved for and studious how to prevent if it be possible, I took horse, there being one appointed for me, and a groom to attend me, and so home, where my wife staid up and sister for me, and so to bed, troubled for what I hear of my Lord.

a stake in the wind
I stay in the woods

and drink to the river
behind my house

my trimmed light
a hole in the dark

my joy
an impossible horse

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 19 September 1663.

Atlas of the Body

Luisa A. Igloria — Sun, 20 Sep 2026 04:00:58 +0000

"Sakit ng kalingkingan, sakit ng buong katawan."
                                                                ~ Filipino proverb

Pain flares in the smallest joint, outpost almost forgotten, 
calling up a cartography that connects the folds of the little 

finger to weather in the knee. The ankle smells smoke— 
a fire burning in the hinterlands of the brain. Throw cold 

water on it, but night after night, the burning starts again. 
Press on the valley between thumb and index finger. A covey 

of birds thrashes about in your lungs. A figure in a golden hat 
leads a flock of tiny animals across the hinge of the collarbone. 

It taps its staff in the air, embroidering a path to safety. Oh terrible 
atlas, we have no idea what waves slosh up against countries of organs 

bordered by currents of blood. Some are so close, we could open a window 
and see what was served for dinner on the other side. But what armies 

prepare to catapult onslaughts against each other?  A spider 
ladders down the spine, its ball of grief a pellet rolled up in silk.

Occasional

Luisa A. Igloria — Sat, 19 Sep 2026 04:00:00 +0000

Meaning by chance, unintended.
Meaning, inspired by an occasion.

Or no particular occasion, just
the occasion of the everyday.

Issa wrote about snow
melting, and the dewdrop

world. About a snail inching
up a great mountain.

This is our life, made of small
moments. Hearing the call

of a bird, resonant 
as a bell, longing 

and desire become
indistinguishable.

Word-hoarder

Dave Bonta — Sat, 19 Sep 2026 01:23:53 +0000

Up, and got our people together as soon as we could; and after eating a dish of cold cream, which was my supper last night too, we took leave of our beggarly company, though they seem good people, too; and over most sad Fenns, all the way observing the sad life which the people of the place which if they be born there, they do call the Breedlings’ of the place, do live, sometimes rowing from one spot to another, and then wadeing, to Wisbeach, a pretty town, and a fine church and library, where sundry very old abbey manuscripts; and a fine house, built on the church ground by Secretary Thurlow, and a fine gallery built for him in the church, but now all in the Bishop of Ely’s hands. After visiting the church, &c., we went out of the towne, by the help of a stranger, to find out one Blinkhorne, a miller, of whom we might inquire something of old Day’s disposal of his estate, and in whose hands it now is; and by great chance we met him, and brought him to our inn to dinner; and instead of being informed in his estate by this fellow, we find that he is the next heir to the estate, which was matter, of great sport to my cozen Thomas and me, to see such a fellow prevent us in our hopes, he being Day’s brother’s, daughter’s son, whereas we are but his sister’s sons and grandsons; so that, after all, we were fain to propose our matter to him, and to get him to give us leave to look after the business, and so he to have one-third part, and we two to have the other two-third parts, of what should be recovered of the estate, which he consented to; and after some discourse and paying the reckoning, we mounted again, and rode, being very merry at our defeat, to Chatteris, my uncle very weary, and after supper, and my telling of three stories, to their good liking, of spirits, we all three in a chamber went to bed.

a beggar in the library
dry old manuscripts
of hands

in the church of thin chance
we find him telling stories
to the spirits

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 18 September 1663.

Unfun

Dave Bonta — Sat, 19 Sep 2026 00:50:21 +0000

Up, and my father being gone to bed ill last night and continuing so this morning, I was forced to come to a new consideration, whether it was fit for to let my uncle and his son go to Wisbeach about my uncle Day’s estate alone or no, and concluded it unfit; and so resolved to go with them myself, leaving my wife there, I begun a journey with them, and with much ado, through the fens, along dikes, where sometimes we were ready to have our horses sink to the belly, we got by night, with great deal of stir and hard riding, to Parson’s Drove, a heathen place, where I found my uncle and aunt Perkins, and their daughters, poor wretches! in a sad, poor thatched cottage, like a poor barn, or stable, peeling of hemp, in which I did give myself good content to see their manner of preparing of hemp; and in a poor condition of habitt took them to our miserable inn, and there, after long stay, and hearing of Frank, their son, the miller, play, upon his treble, as he calls it, with which he earns part of his living, and singing of a country bawdy song, we sat down to supper; the whole crew, and Frank’s wife and child, a sad company, of which I was ashamed, supped with us. And after supper I, talking with my aunt about her report concerning my uncle Day’s will and surrender, I found her in such different reports from what she writes and says to the people, and short of what I expected, that I fear little will be done of good in it. By and by newes is brought to us that one of our horses is stole out of the stable, which proves my uncle’s, at which I am inwardly glad — I mean, that it was not mine; and at this we were at a great loss; and they doubting a person that lay at next door, a Londoner, some lawyer’s clerk, we caused him to be secured in his bed, and other care to be taken to seize the horse; and so about twelve at night or more, to bed in a sad, cold, nasty chamber, only the mayde was indifferent handsome, and so I had a kiss or two of her, and I to bed, and a little after I was asleep they waked me to tell me that the horse was found, which was good newes, and so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly, and nobody else of our company, which I wonder at, by the gnatts.

a fat night
to fit in the belly

heathen like a barn
or a bawdy song

the whole company
of supper people

inwardly
was not mine

a person used to his bed
and the sad kiss of gnats

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 17 September 1663.

Everyday Gods

Luisa A. Igloria — Fri, 18 Sep 2026 17:17:48 +0000

"Every day is a god, each day is a god."
                                                ~ Annie Dillard

You buy fruit when you can: mangoes, peaches, cherries
for their polislhed crimson globes, pears for their green
dimpled hips. Piled high in bins at the store, apples look 
like they're glowing from within because they've been 
coated with carnauba or candelilla wax. An apple a day 
keeps the doctor away, your mother would chant, washing 
then peeling a Red Delicious apple bought from the post 
exchange market where you could get "Stateside" goods. 
Expensive, but worth it if it would bring your appetite back, 
your health, the health of the one languishing in bed 
from long illness. It's as if a god had put a miracle in
the fruit, or a god was in the fruit itself, waiting for
the merest chance to show its benevolence. If a bruise
darkens the cheek of a peach overnight, if the toilet
on your office floor smells like something died in there
or if the mail brings you alarming test results, are these,
then, also some kind of message from the divine?
Every day, you keep some kind of tally: how many cups
of coffee before noon, how much rain came down to flood
the intersection, who called and left how many voicemails?
Every evening, you rinse the plates after dinner with a soapy
sponge. You draw the blinds close, heat water for tea. 
The car swerving without warning into your lane just
narrowly missed you. You gave a reference for 
a former student. All the things you managed to do
and say Yes to before the day, or the god, shut the door.

Love’s Labor Lost

Luisa A. Igloria — Fri, 18 Sep 2026 03:01:00 +0000

My youngest daughter remembers us
stopping at little hotels during family trips.
She says she feels a certain type of nostalgia
for the free-though-you-know-it’s-not-really-
free breakfasts, where there are waffle machines
you load with batter and flip over. When the beeper
goes off, you pry your breakfast from the gridded
skillet with the tip of a plastic knife and slide it onto
a paper plate. Almost made from scratch, but better
than the sad precooked pancakes in the store’s
freezer section, their taste and texture like the boxes
they’re packed in. “Convenience” is the reason
offered for almost everything “streamlined” or
“deliverable”—meaning speed, meaning you shouldn’t
have to work so hard or spend all day writing memos,
summarizing documents, reading the book, drafting
a first draft. Surveys report that 86% of college
students use AI in school. Fewer adults read books
for pleasure, and only 34% of children said they enjoyed
reading in their free time. Once, a book could be a tent
lit up with a flashlight, the wilderness of night kept
outside with a cosy blanket fort. My colleague told
her literature class to find two examples for each
of the literary terms in their book: simile, metaphor,
metonymy, conflict, rising action, irony. They blinked
and acted stupefied. What do you mean? they said,
as if she’d asked them to separate lentils and pebbles
with dented spoons. Imagine waffles and pancakes
not just landing on conveyor belts, but coming
to you pre-buttered, pre-masticated, stamped
with a complimentary phrase from Shakespeare.

Ringed

Dave Bonta — Thu, 17 Sep 2026 01:55:56 +0000

Up betimes, and with my wife to Hinchingbroke to see my Lady, she being to go to my Lord this morning, and there I left her, and so back to the Court, and heard Sir R. Bernard’s charges to the Courts Baron and Leete, which took up till noon, and were worth hearing, and after putting my business into some way, went home to my father’s to dinner, and after dinner to the Court, where Sir Robert and his son came again by and by, and then to our business, and my father and I having given bond to him for the 21l. Piggott owed him, my uncle Thomas did quietly admit himself and surrender to us the lands first mortgaged for our whole debt, and Sir Robert added to it what makes it up 209l., to be paid in six months. But when I came to give him an account of more lands to be surrendered to us, wherein Piggott’s wife was concerned, and she there to give her consent, Sir Robert would not hear of it, but began to talk very high that we were very cruel, and we had caution enough for our money, and he could not in conscience let the woman do it, and reproached my uncle, both he and his son, with taking use upon use for this money. To all which I did give him such answers and spoke so well, and kept him so to it, that all the Court was silent to hear us, and by report since do confess they did never hear the like in the place. But he by a wile had got our bond, and I was content to have as much as I could though I could not get all, and so took Piggott’s surrender of them without his wife, and by Sir Robert’s own consent did tell the Court that if the money were not paid in the time, and the security prove not sufficient, I would conclude myself wronged by Sir Robert, which he granted I should do.
This kept us till night, but am heartily glad it ended so well on my uncle’s part, he doing that and Prior’s little house very willingly. So the Court broke up, and my father and Mr. Shepley and I to Gorrum’s to drink, and then I left them, and to the Bull, where my uncle was to hear what he and the people said of our business, and here nothing but what liked me very well. So by and by home and to supper, and with my mind in pretty good quiett, to bed.

her ring put me
into debt

I surrendered
my answers

kept silent
to hear the heart

like a little bull
in a well

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 16 September 1663.

Style Guide

Luisa A. Igloria — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 21:37:06 +0000

What I mean is
will you read all of it, or
only the first ten pages?

Will you come at it
with a slide rule or a ruler,
or a more abstract measure

of error? Sometimes 
it takes longer to work 
on common mistakes.

The more difficult
to detect are the product
of some kind of subtle

engineering. Harder
to undo, until they are no
longer abstract, or

a fine line has been
crossed, broken, restructured,
embargoed, or banned.

Search for meaning

Dave Bonta — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 14:11:57 +0000

Up pretty betimes and rode as far as Godmanchester, Mr. Moore having two falls, once in water and another in dirt, and there ‘light and eat and drunk, being all of us very weary, but especially my uncle and wife. Thence to Brampton to my father’s, and there found all well, but not sensible how they ought to treat my uncle and his son, at least till the Court be over, which vexed me, but on my counsel they carried it fair to them; and so my father, cozen Thomas, and I up to Hinchingbroke, where I find my Lord and his company gone to Boughton, which vexed me; but there I find my Lady and the young ladies, and there I alone with my Lady two hours, she carrying me through every part of the house and gardens, which are, and will be, mighty noble indeed. Here I saw Mrs. Betty Pickering, who is a very well-bred and comely lady, but very fat. Thence, without so much as drinking, home with my father and cozen, who staid for me, and to a good supper; after I had had an hour’s talk with my father abroad in the fields, wherein he begun to talk very highly of my promises to him of giving him the profits of Sturtlow, as if it were nothing that I give him out of my purse, and that he would have me to give this also from myself to my brothers and sister; I mean Brampton and all, I think: I confess I was angry to hear him talk in that manner, and took him up roundly in it, and advised him if he could not live upon 50l. per ann., which was another part of his discourse, that he would think to come and live at Tom’s again, where 50l. per ann. will be a good addition to Tom’s trade, and I think that must be done when all is done. But my father spoke nothing more of it all the time I was in the country, though at the time he seemed to like it well enough. I also spoke with Piggott too this evening before I went in to supper, and doubt that I shall meet with some knots in my business to-morrow before I can do it at the Court, but I shall do my best.
After supper my uncle and his son to Stankes’s to bed, which troubles me, all our father’s beds being lent to Hinchingbroke, and so my wife and I to bed, she very weary.

god of water and dirt
well up

through every part
of the garden

I would give
as I could live

like a pig
for supper

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 15 September 1663.