Via Negativa

The Crossing

Luisa A. Igloria — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 02:23:53 +0000

Our first landlady picked up cigarette 
butts thrown by the next-door neighbors 

onto the sidewalk, and tossed them
back on their deck. We knew it was time

to move when the man who bought
her building put up eviction warning

notices on the doors without asking
if the rent checks might have been

misdelivered. Another place we occupied
had no insulation. Winter was a revelation

of plastic sheets ballooning over windows.
Roof rats, water in the basement, faulty

radiators. Once, we thought the crossing
we made would be temporary. We didn't 

imagine we'd dwell in it, longer than any of
the apartments we rented in succession. 

I know I can't ask the future to declare 
itself. I boil water on the stove for tea 

and consider unwritten pages, the shape 
that remaining has pressed into the furniture. 

Not every hour is seeded with difficulty,  but 
the gods continue to collect transit tickets.

Etude

Luisa A. Igloria — Sat, 25 Jul 2026 23:44:29 +0000

"To be scattered—
desire luminous
and in tatters—"
                  ~ Robin Coste Lewis


This same desire grows
stronger each year instead
of finally being sated—
the condition

of those like us who took
a chance and stepped across
a threshold, before understanding
how thresholds multiply, ache

following ache. The port recedes, 
and the end of the runway recedes
but the bright edge of cities
cannot eclipse the darkness.

Those who have never had
to leave think of longing 
as a bright, sure progression
toward fullness.

Those who have never been
left behind don't bend
instinctively toward
a secret wound.

A voice; the scent
of roasted corn or the oil
of oranges. Something
accordions into mirage.

I can arrange this kingdom
so it fits entirely on a teaspoon,  
float it like a petal on bath water.
At the end of the winding

mountain road, the houses
huddled together come
into view. Have I lived
everything that is 

supposed to be my life?
I am told I need to be
patient, but when was I
not patient? Rain

has trained me
to be quiet, to undertand
how even a stone can 
wear away with time. 

Still, I turn my face 
toward sunlight, toward 
what gleams with no bitterness, 
without indifference.

Sacrifice is What They Call It

Luisa A. Igloria — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 22:55:23 +0000

I wonder what it took to stay the terrible
moment of doubt, and so do the gods’ bidding?
Too many instances of sacrifice in mythology,
each a dagger entering history in the guise
of duty. But surely there was doubt? Some
small tremor before the winds of prophecy
named one daughter instead of another,
thrust her neck on a stone altar? Torn
sails mended, boats sailed through pliant
waters as if thresholds were always meant
to be marked with blood. Centuries later,
we are still saying war is the circumstance
that justifies murder. Cities burn, seas turn
their dark into a wine that erases memory.

Dive bar

Dave Bonta — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 20:44:39 +0000

Up pretty early (though of late I have been faulty by an hour or two every morning of what I should do) and by water to the Temple, and there took leave of my cozen Roger Pepys, who goes out of town to-day. So to Westminster Hall, and there at Mrs. Michell’s shop sent for beer and sugar and drink, and made great cheer with it among her and Mrs. Howlett, her neighbour, and their daughters, especially Mrs. Howlett’s daughter, Betty, which is a pretty girl, and one I have long called wife, being, I formerly thought, like my own wife. After this good neighbourhood, which I do to give them occasion of speaking well and commending me in some company that now and then I know comes to their shop, I went to the Six clerks’ office, and there had a writ for Tom Trice, and paid 20s. for it to Wilkinson, and so up and down to many places, among others to the viall maker’s, and there saw the head, which now pleases me mightily, and so home, and being sent for presently to Mr. Bland’s, where Mr. Povy and Gauden and I were invited to dinner, which we had very finely and great plenty, but for drink, though many and good, I drank nothing but small beer and water, which I drank so much that I wish it may not do me hurt.
They had a kinswoman, they call daughter, in the house, a short, ugly, red-haired slut, that plays upon the virginalls, and sings, but after such a country manner I was weary of it, but yet could not but commend it. So by and by after dinner comes Monsr. Gotier, who is beginning to teach her, but, Lord! what a droll fellow it is to make her hold open her mouth, and telling this and that so drolly would make a man burst, but himself I perceive sings very well.
Anon we sat down again to a collacon of cheesecakes, tarts, custards, and such like, very handsome, and so up and away home, where I at the office a while, till disturbed by, Mr. Hill, of Cambridge, with whom I walked in the garden a while, and thence home and then in my dining room walked, talking of several matters of state till 11 at night, giving him a glass of wine.
I was not unwilling to hear him talk, though he is full of words, yet a man of large conversation, especially among the Presbyters and Independents; he tells me that certainly, let the Bishops alone, and they will ruin themselves, and he is confident that the King’s declaration about two years since will be the foundation of the settlement of the Church some time or other, for the King will find it hard to banish all those that will appear Nonconformists upon this Act that is coming out against them.
He being gone, I to bed.

beer and cheer and howl
form a neighborhood

the company of others
might be plenty

but many go small
the red of an open mouth

and make a man burst
like a glass full of words

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 24 July 1663.

Eaten

Dave Bonta — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 18:58:02 +0000

Up and to my office, and thence by information from Mr. Ackworth I went down to Woolwich, and mustered the three East India ships that lie there, believing that there is great-juggling between the Pursers and Clerks of the Cheque in cheating the King of the wages and victuals of men that do not give attendance, and I found very few on board.
So to the yard, and there mustered the yard, and found many faults, and discharged several fellows that were absent from their business.
I staid also at Mr. Ackworth’s desire at dinner with him and his wife, and there was a simple fellow, a gentleman I believe of the Court, their kinsman, that made me I could have little discourse or begin acquaintance with Ackworth’s wife: and so after dinner away, with all haste home, and there found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten at the office, and by Sir W. Batten’s testimony and Sir G. Carteret’s concurrence was forced to consent to a business of Captain Cocke’s timber, as bad as anything we have lately disputed about, and all through Mr. Coventry’s not being with us.
So up and to supper with Sir W. Batten upon a soused mullett, very good meat, and so home and to bed.

the lie eating me
is simple
I believe it in a way

it has the force
of an oven
on soused meat

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 23 July 1663.

Crafty

Dave Bonta — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 16:30:06 +0000

Up, and by and by comes my uncle Thomas, to whom I paid 10l. for his last half year’s annuity, and did get his and his son’s hand and seal for the confirming to us Piggott’s mortgage, which was forgot to be expressed in our late agreement with him, though intended, and therefore they might have cavilled at it, if they would.
Thence abroad calling at several places upon some errands, among others to my brother Tom’s barber and had my hair cut, while his boy played on the viallin, a plain boy, but has a very good genius, and understands the book very well, but to see what a shift he made for a string of red silk was very pleasant. Thence to my Lord Crew’s. My Lord not being come home, I met and staid below with Captain Ferrers, who was come to wait upon my Lady Jemimah to St. James’s, she being one of the four ladies that hold up the mantle at the christening this afternoon of the Duke’s child (a boy).
In discourse of the ladies at Court, Captain Ferrers tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is now as great again as ever she was; and that her going away was only a fit of her own upon some slighting words of the King, so that she called for her coach at a quarter of an hour’s warning, and went to Richmond; and the King the next morning, under pretence of going a-hunting, went to see her and make friends, and never was a-hunting at all. After which she came back to Court, and commands the King as much as ever, and hath and doth what she will.
No longer ago than last night, there was a private entertainment made for the King and Queen at the Duke of Buckingham’s, and she was not invited: but being at my Lady Suffolk’s, her aunt’s (where my Lady Jemimah and Lord Sandwich dined) yesterday, she was heard to say, “Well; much good may it do them, and for all that I will be as merry as they:” and so she went home and caused a great supper to be prepared. And after the King had been with the Queen at Wallingford House, he came to my Lady Castlemaine’s, and was there all night, and my Lord Sandwich with him, which was the reason my Lord lay in town all night, which he has not done a great while before.
He tells me he believes that, as soon as the King can get a husband for Mrs. Stewart however, my Lady Castlemaine’s nose will be out of joynt; for that she comes to be in great esteem, and is more handsome than she.
I found by his words that my Lord Sandwich finds some pleasure in the country where he now is, whether he means one of the daughters of the house or no I know not, but hope the contrary, that he thinks he is very well pleased with staying there, but yet upon breaking up of the Parliament, which the King by a message to-day says shall be on Monday next, he resolves to go.
Ned Pickering, the coxcomb, notwithstanding all his hopes of my Lord’s assistance, wherein I am sorry to hear my Lord has much concerned himself, is defeated of the place he expected under the Queen.
He came hither by and by and brought some jewells for my Lady Jem. to put on, with which and her other clothes she looks passing well.
I staid and dined with my Lord Crew, who whether he was not so well pleased with me as he used to be, or that his head was full of business, as I believe it was, he hardly spoke one word to me all dinner time, we dining alone, only young Jack Crew, Sir Thomas’s son, with us.
After dinner I bade him farewell. Sir Thomas I hear has gone this morning ill to bed, so I had no mind to see him.
Thence homewards, and in the way first called at Wotton’s, the shoemaker’s, who tells me the reason of Harris’s going from Sir Wm. Davenant’s house, that he grew very proud and demanded 20l. for himself extraordinary, more than Betterton or any body else, upon every new play, and 10l. upon every revive; which with other things Sir W. Davenant would not give him, and so he swore he would never act there more, in expectation of being received in the other House; but the King will not suffer it, upon Sir W. Davenant’s desire that he would not, for then he might shut up house, and that is true. He tells me that his going is at present a great loss to the House, and that he fears he hath a stipend from the other House privately.
He tells me that the fellow grew very proud of late, the King and every body else crying him up so high, and that above Betterton, he being a more ayery man, as he is indeed. But yet Betterton, he says, they all say do act: some parts that none but himself can do.
Thence to my bookseller’s, and found my Waggoners done. The very binding cost me 14s., but they are well done, and so with a porter home with them, and so by water to Ratcliffe, and there went to speak with Cumberford the platt-maker, and there saw his manner of working, which is very fine and laborious. So down to Deptford, reading Ben Jonson’s “Devil is an asse,” and so to see Sir W. Pen, who I find walking out of doors a little, but could not stand long; but in doors and I with him, and staid a great while talking, I taking a liberty to tell him my thoughts in things of the office; that when he comes abroad again, he may know what to think of me, and to value me as he ought. Walked home as I used to do, and being weary, and after some discourse with Mr. Barrow, who came to see and take his leave of me, he being to-morrow to set out toward the Isle of Man, I went to bed.
This day I hear that the Moores have made some attaques upon the outworks of Tangier; but my Lord Tiviott; with the loss of about 200 men, did beat them off, and killed many of them.
To-morrow the King and Queen for certain go down to Tunbridge. But the King comes hack again against Monday to raise the Parliament.

who is calling her
but genius
no Christ is ever as light

as a private joy that comes to be
more than pleasure
the country where now is

not staying there
but breaking to put on
other clothes

passing as
a home maker
as her art works

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 22 July 1663.

Rain Menu

Luisa A. Igloria — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 01:26:00 +0000

Cream of Corn with Mashed of Chicken Soup
is what the Menu lists, among other things
like Happy Family and Husband Delight. 
And on the other laminated pages, pictures
of noodles, velvet in many variations of sauce.
A stream of people arrives through the doors,
shaking drops of water from their umbrellas.
On windowpanes facing the street, the red-
green-yellow blur of traffic lights. Think 
of a Hopper, but set in a different country—
where thick porcelain cups and plates 
sit on formica-covered tables and rice
bowls are wreathed with steam. Language
translates imperfectly, but hunger knows
the shape of soup spoons delivering 
the very thing for a night like this.

Alive

Luisa A. Igloria — Wed, 22 Jul 2026 22:58:07 +0000

A building on the corner of Otek 
and Chanum streets used to be 
a Kempetai headquarters, during 
the Japanese occupation. In the '50s, 
it was converted into the Bayanihan 
Hotel, though some of its dark history
lingered in wooden panels and broody 
green paint, like the interior of a forest. 
I was very young when my father picked up 
his niece and her fiance from the bus 
station, and helped them get a room there; 
they had just eloped. This word, explained 
in terms of marriage, choice, and going 
against others' wishes. My father seemed 
pleased that he could help, which told me
what side he was on. Or perhaps, it was
the only way to save face, if a child
was already on the way. We were taught
that history is what has happened— over
and done. The past, a bed you can't  abandon. 
But I've come to learn the past survives in many 
ways, finds new forms to inhabit. Silence carries 
the things we've inherited, then one day tips them out
like diesel leaking from the gas station on the corner. 
Something remains alert inside spaces we thought 
were vacant. Then light climbs the staircases at night,
touches the drapes as though reconsidering a decision.

On holiday

Dave Bonta — Wed, 22 Jul 2026 13:52:54 +0000

And so lay long in the morning, till I heard people knock at my door, and I took it to be about 8 o’clock (but afterwards found myself a little mistaken), and so I rose and ranted at Will and the maid, and swore I could find my heart to kick them down stairs, which the maid mumbled at mightily. It was my brother, who staid and talked with me, his chief business being about his going about to build his house new at the top, which will be a great charge for him, and above his judgment.
By and by comes Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, with his draught of a ship, and the bend and main lines in the body of a ship very finely, and which do please me mightily, and so am resolved to study hard, and learn of him to understand a body, and I find him a very pretty fellow in it, and rational, but a little conceited, but that’s no matter to me. At noon, by my Lady Batten’s desire, I went over the water to Mr. Castle’s, who brings his wife home to his own house to-day, where I found a great many good old women, and my Lady, Sir W. Batten, and Sir J. Minnes.
A good, handsome, plain dinner, and then walked in the garden; which is pleasant enough, more than I expected there, and so Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I by water to the office, and there sat, and then I by water to the Temple about my law business, and back again home and wrote letters to my father and wife about my desire that they should observe the feast at Brampton, and have my Lady and the family, and so home to supper and bed, my head aching all the day from my last night’s bad rest, and yesterday’s distempering myself with over walking, and to-day knocking my head against a low door in Mr. Castle’s house.
This day the Parliament kept a fast for the present unseasonable weather.

a morning to go out
of line

body in a body
of water

temple tempering
my head

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 21 July 1663.

Making Meaning

Luisa A. Igloria — Tue, 21 Jul 2026 21:07:29 +0000

Where do we get the tendency to look for symbols 
when perhaps sometimes the thing is only itself 
and not some larger or more universal meaning?
The blackbird that lights on the topmost branch
of the fig tree may simply be resting and not 
bearing messages from the dead. The flimsy
petals of crepe myrtle that stick to my hair every
time I navigate the short walk from the sidewalk
to the car may only mean it's time to call the city 
for pruning services, and not confetti from the gods.
We find a penny on the edge of the doormat, 
and naturally we want to pick it up for luck. Ants
form a wavering but determined line from the window-
sill to the counter. In a bowl, a pear is starting to bruise
softly in its bronze-colored jacket, and I recall
the dark spot on my father's left hand. Who called 
to what, and who answered? Everywhere I walk,
it seems there's a thread I can pull on, attached 
to a picture hiding in plain sight. I know I want
to be addressed, to feel some kind of touch
which I might find reassuring. But the dark, 
glossy sheen of bird feathers, the speckled 
rind on fruit and the sugar beginning to foam
out of its pores can be presence enough. Not 
certainty, just the briefest mark of grounding.