Via Negativa

September 12, 2026September 13, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Poem with a Prayer Breaking Through It

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

~ after Larry Levis


I will begin with this cicada shell,
exuvia a dull bronze armor cast 
thinner against the early light. 
Where the body clung to this
form and where it emerged,
there is a split back. Waterproof
chitin yet husk-thin, paper-thin.
I think of all that lies dormant
underground where moles 
build tunnels with no windows,
where warmth and light are rumors
until suddenly the soil, too, rips
its casings open. The gardens, wet
with rain after days of near-drought.
The waterspouts garrulous again.
This artifact of long-held desire, 
this proof that there is life after 
a long imprisonment in darkness.

September 12, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Light supper

This morning, about two or three o’clock, knocked up in our back yard, and rising to the window, being moonshine, I found it was the constable and his watch, who had found our back yard door open, and so came in to see what the matter was. So I desired them to shut the door, and bid them good night, and so to bed again, and at 6 o’clock up and a while to my vyall, and then to the office, where all the morning upon the victualler’s accounts, and then with him to dinner at the Dolphin, where I eat well but drank no wine neither; which keeps me in such good order that I am mightily pleased with myself for it. Hither Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I home and advised about business, and so after an hour’s examining the state of the Navy debts lately cast up, I took coach to Sir Philip Warwick’s, but finding Sir G. Carteret there I did not go in, but directly home, again, it raining hard, having first of all been with Creed and Mrs. Harper about a cook maid, and am like to have one from Creed’s lodging. In my way home visited my Lord Crew and Sir Thomas, thinking they might have enquired by the by of me touching my Lord’s matters at Chelsey, but they said nothing, and so after some slight common talk I bid them good night.
At home to my office, and after a while doing business home to supper and bed.

the moon found
our back door open
and came in

I drank wine with her
touching nothing
a light supper

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 11 September 1663.

September 11, 2026September 11, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Occupational Hazard

I, too, am still trying to find 
             ways to go on, the courage
to look daily griefs in the face
instead of pretending not to see them.

When I became a mother, I learned
             what it means to always keep one
eye open, my ear cocked for the merest
sound of danger. Even now, with grown

daughters, I still check
             the weather by means of other signs.
Pushing my grocery cart past bins
of shining produce, flowers,

little boxes of temptation right by
              the cash registers, my mind forms
the same questions—are they safe,
are they fed, are they faring 

well enough for the world to not
             destroy them or their joy? In my gut,
hope jostles for space with the acids
of worry as I will my hands not to shake.

September 11, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Mindset

Up betimes and to my office, and there sat all the morning making a great contract with Sir W. Warren for 3,000l. worth of masts; but, good God! to see what a man might do, were I a knave, the whole business from beginning to end being done by me out of the office, and signed to by them upon the once reading of it to them, without the least care or consultation either of quality, price, number, or need of them, only in general that it was good to have a store. But I hope my pains was such, as the King has the best bargain of masts has been bought these 27 years in this office.
Dined at home and then to my office again, many people about business with me, and then stepped a little abroad about business to the Wardrobe, but missed Mr. Moore, and elswhere, and in my way met Mr. Moore, who tells me of the good peace that is made at Tangier with the Moores, but to continue but from six months to six months, and that the Mole is laid out, and likely to be done with great ease and successe, we to have a quantity of ground for our cattle about the town to our use.
To my office late, and then home to supper, after writing letters, and to bed.
This day our cook maid (we having no luck in maids now-adays), which was likely to prove a good servant, though none of the best cooks, fell sick and is gone to her friends, having been with us but 4 days.

what numb need of hope
has been a road to war

is a good peace made
with the ground

for cattle at supper
is luck like a cook

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 10 September 1663.

September 10, 2026September 10, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Declaration of Ownership

On the news this week, it was reported
that we claimed ownership of the moon—

its hammered surface rising over beaches,
schools, parking lots, and detention centers;

its cratered Sea of Tranquility where Apollo 11
touched down and the astronauts left bootprints

that are still there because the moon has no weather
to wash them away. Perhaps someone will also try

to claim ownership of the bees and their gold
cells, the rivers and all their tenants folding silver

light beneath the bridges. Could we claim
ownership of the seas’ republics that predate

our own, the fireflies threading messages
in the dark, the sweetness spilled from honey-

suckle throats on the vine, the fields with too
much fruit because now no hands are there

to harvest them? Could we claim the bright
speckle of salt on the shore, the shoebill stork’s

voice mimicking artillery fire? Orchards before
blossom, seeds before they wake. Hunger

that opens its mouth all day without seeing
how taking is not the same as receiving.

September 10, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Man or beast

Up by break of day, and then to my vials a while, and so to Sir W. Warren’s by agreement, and after talking and eating something with him, he and I down by water to Woolwich, and there I did several businesses, and had good discourse, and thence walked to Greenwich; in my way a little boy overtook us with a fine cupp turned out of Lignum Vitae, which the poor child confessed was made in the King’s yard by his father, a turner there, and that he do often do it, and that I might have one, and God knows what, which I shall examine. Thence to Sir W. Warren’s again, and there drew up a contract for masts which he is to sell us, and so home to dinner, finding my poor wife busy.
I, after dinner, to the office, and then to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret’s, but did not speak with him, and so to Westminster Hall, God forgive me, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, but she was not there, but here I met with Ned Pickering, with whom I walked 3 or 4 hours till evening, he telling me the whole business of my Lord’s folly with this Mrs. Becke, at Chelsey, of all which I am ashamed to see my Lord so grossly play the beast and fool, to the flinging off of all honour, friends, servants, and every thing and person that is good, and only will have his private lust undisturbed with this common whore his sitting up night after night alone, suffering nobody to come to them, and all the day too, casting off Pickering, basely reproaching him with his small estate, which yet is a good one, and other poor courses to obtain privacy beneath his honour, and with his carrying her abroad and playing on his lute under her window, and forty other poor sordid things, which I am grieved to hear; but believe it to no purpose for me to meddle with it, but let him go on till God Almighty and his own conscience and thoughts of his lady and family do it. So after long discourse, to my full satisfaction but great trouble, I home by water and at my office late, and so to supper to my poor wife, and so to bed, being troubled to think that I shall be forced to go to Brampton the next Court, next week.

a little boy turned
into me but not

the beast I disturb
night after night

suffering with his small estate
under my bed

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 9 September 1663.

September 9, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Wayfare

Up and to my viall a while, and then to my office on Phillips having brought me a draught of the Katherine yacht, prettily well done for the common way of doing it. At the office all the morning making up our last half year’s account to my Lord Treasurer, which comes to 160,000l. or there abouts, the proper expense of this half year, only with an addition of 13,000l. for the third due of the last account to the Treasurer for his disbursements, and 1100l. for this half year’s; so that in three years and a half his thirds come to 14,100l.. Dined at home with my wife. It being washing day, we had a good pie baked of a leg of mutton; and then to my office, and then abroad, and among other places to Moxon’s, and there bought a payre of globes cost me 3l. 10s., with which I am well pleased, I buying them principally for my wife, who has a mind to understand them, and I shall take pleasure to teach her. But here I saw his great window in his dining room, where there is the two Terrestrial Hemispheres, so painted as I never saw in my life, and nobly done and to good purpose, done by his own hand.
Thence home to my office, and there at business late, and then to supper home and to bed, my people sitting up longer than ordinary before they had done their washing.

the common way comes out of
one eye on the road

other places cost me
all my mind to understand

I saw a window
I never saw my life

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 8 September 1663.

September 9, 2026September 9, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Midlife Crisis

The TV's on in the other room and you hear a talk 
show host ask, Is it possible to have a midlife 
crisis at eighty? There's laughter, so you don't hear 
the guest's answer. Folding underwear in the bedroom, 
you think, Why not? Surely one can be seized even at 
that age by the urge to buy a sports car or motorcycle,
take a lover half their age, quit being the sensible 
grandma and go on an open-ended vacation.
It's not that you want your youth back, or feet 
still smooth and without bunions. But you want
to put down the things you've been carrying so long
without complaint, to hear someone sing the syllables 
of your name instead of the formalities you're known 
by—Ma'am, Dr., Ms., Mrs. If by midlife we mean a place 
where the crease feels sharpest, a place between
everything we've known and everything that's still 
not manifest and therefore a mystery, then there's time 
to learn to tango in Argentina, skydive from a plane, not 
have to be the one to stay behind while everyone else
boards the tour bus. It's perfectly fine to look through
costume changes backstage, pick out something
bold and outrageous for your next entrance.

September 8, 2026September 8, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Micro Drama

"I shall not lament
the human, not yet." 
                       ~ Dorianne Laux
 

Poor little girl with the golden heart who winds
up working for the rich and heartless, in a house
with a staircase wide enough for egos dressed

in silks and suits: they treat her like she's lower 
than a maid. Beggar or slut, tramp who's wriggled 
her way somehow into their world. Other fledglings 

find their way into her care—the senile grandmother, 
the child who refuses to speak or eat. In the first
episode she finds a way to gain their trust. 

In the next, they're utterly changed, almost 
as radiant as their former selves. Then the music
changes, doors bang open, the mistress's hand

lands on her cheek. We keep watching, though we
know it's all perfectly orchestrated: predictable script, 
the makeup of both villainess and heroine still perfect

after marathon fighting and weeping. They've got 
the tropes and the melodrama. We want to see love
win, see karma find those who wanted to ruin everything

September 7, 2026September 7, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Origin, Best By, Product Of

What do the labels with barcodes mean, affixed
to one corner of each plastic-wrapped tray
gleaming in supermarket freezers? From what
barn and what pasture, from what processing
plant and what ship, through what border
have they come for inspection, in order to be
stacked in a hold? Before landing between two
halves of a bun with a slice of tomato and a frilled
lettuce leaf, what variety of cheap trimmings and cuts
did your hamburger patty subsume? Another day,
another recall— as though it were only a matter
of putting down the fork, pulling the steak or
the slab out from under the gravy and back
to the store. Or throwing away the milk, the eggs,
the berries and avocados, wondering what we’ll
have to live on besides water and air, as clouds
shaped like cows drift through a gingham blue sky.