Luisa A. Igloria – Via Negativa

Summer Tankas / 6

Luisa A. Igloria — Mon, 06 Jul 2026 04:00:00 +0000


All out of season—
Early crepe myrtle showers.
Rain few and far between.
A wave machine drives water
into a pool: no exit.

Summer Tankas / 5

Luisa A. Igloria — Sun, 05 Jul 2026 04:00:00 +0000

I will live alone
at some point—circled by grass
and trees, hum of bees. 
I can only hope for such
grace, if not absolution.

Summer Tankas / 4

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

Some days I am lint
stuck to every coat pocket.
Some days I find change
to feed the laundry machine,
when I had no higher ambition.

Summer Tankas / 3

Luisa A. Igloria — Fri, 03 Jul 2026 04:00:00 +0000

What word lives inside
me that will last all season?
The birds say listen.
I haven’t learned to be brave,
to trust the undulations.

Summer Tankas / 2

Luisa A. Igloria — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 04:00:00 +0000

On a northern island
lashed constantly by typhoons,
houses built with stone.
Withstand could be its motto.
Abide could be another.

Summer Tankas / 1

Luisa A. Igloria — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 04:00:00 +0000

This is the spot where
the year begins to fold back
into itself. Sharp
crease in the middle. Vellum
through which we glimpse the future.

Tapas

Luisa A. Igloria — Tue, 30 Jun 2026 20:10:04 +0000

We ask for patatas bravas, buñuelos 
de bacalao; manchego cheese and honey.
We ask for jamon serrano,  champiñones 
al ajillo, pan con tomate. Small plates, easy 
to finish when shared with friends. Rhetorical
question: why do I find the foods of my first 
colonizer delicious? Ordinary fare: steamed
swamp spinach, fried scad, rice. Delicious,
especially eaten without silverware, but not 
served to guests or at parties. Our tongues, 
taught to swerve from the language of our 
origins. Taught to soften the trills 
that might remind us of birds.

Heat Dome

Luisa A. Igloria — Tue, 30 Jun 2026 04:00:00 +0000

You begin to smell it everywhere—
the burn like sugar gone past the candy 
stage in a pan. And then rubber tires 
soften against the curb. You could make 
a furrow in the road's asphalt as though 
it were a cake top spread with buttercream. 
Metal pins curve into glossy punctuation 
marks. Every exposed mirror empties its
pocket of frozen water. Stop signs fuse 
red, green, and yellow. If all of us jumped 
into a public pool, we'd bob like eggs
heated through to our jammy centers, 
crying out for an ice bath.

What it Means

Luisa A. Igloria — Tue, 30 Jun 2026 00:20:39 +0000

As we round the corner to the end of June, 
the forecast has the full moon reaching 
its peak and Mercury slowing down. 
In many stories, the moon wears a face 
you could read if it revealed itself to you. 
This doesn't necessarily mean you'd ask it 
to grant a wish. I never wanted to live forever, 
though I did often dream I could fly. The moment
a thing manifests is often followed by the moment
it fades. This is why sometimes, you never 
want to wake up from a dream.

Dream with Sky Lantern

Luisa A. Igloria — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 21:24:51 +0000

In a dream, two of my daughters sit in a box
frame house the size of a sky lantern. They are going
to bring a plate of purple figs to God, freshly picked 
yesterday and cold from the refrigerator. I hold
the bottom steady, waiting for the lit birthday candles
to fuel the paper envelope surrounding them 
and the moment of lift-off. I want to be useful.
I want them to succeed. I want them to soar
through the night sky holding hands but unafraid.
I want to watch the marvel of their progress, 
a gold thread steadily stitching the blue. There
they go, floating with every good wish in
the wind. I don't mind the cold in these dark
hills, nor the crows full of bluster in the trees.