Via Negativa

January 15, 2024January 14, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

The arms being come this morning from the Tower, we caused them to be distributed. I spent much time walking with Lieutenant Lambert, walking up and down the yards, who did give me much light into things there, and so went along with me and dined with us. After dinner Mrs. Pett, her husband being gone this morning with Sir W. Batten to Chatham, lent us her coach, and carried us to Woolwich, where we did also dispose of the arms there and settle the guards. So to Mr. Pett’s, the shipwright, and there supped, where he did treat us very handsomely (and strange it is to see what neat houses all the officers of the King’s yards have), his wife a proper woman, and has been handsome, and yet has a very pretty hand.
Thence I with Mr. Ackworth to his house, where he has a very pretty house, and a very proper lovely woman to his wife, who both sat with me in my chamber, and they being gone, I went to bed, which was also most neat and fine.

I come walking walking
up and down

who am I
to settle here

to see what neat uses
all the yards have

as a pretty hand has
a pretty rope

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 14 January 1660/61.

January 14, 2024January 12, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

What It Takes

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Can one actually die of sorrow?
I am tired, I tell my husband and children. 
So tired of the labor of the everyday, 
compounded by labors of the spirit. 
The hours roll up the dust of our time 
like a scroll, like a rug, like a badly frayed 
book cover that wants sewing. I am 
the curved needle pushing from one 
station to the next, trying my best to keep 
the signatures tightly pressed together. 
Mend and make, re-make and mend, 
so the body can keep going somehow. 
Daily I build a little shed with words; 
I'll come when called for dinner, until I can't.

January 13, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Cold seasoning

In the morning we all went to church, and sat in the pew belonging to us, where a cold sermon of a young man that never had preached before. Here Commissioner Pett came with his wife and daughters, the eldest being his wife’s daughter is a very comely black woman. So to the Globe to dinner, and then with Commissioner Pett to his lodgings there (which he hath for the present while he is building the King’s yacht, which will be a pretty thing, and much beyond the Dutchman’s), and from thence with him and his wife and daughter-in-law by coach to Greenwich Church, where a good sermon, a fine church, and a great company of handsome women. After sermon to Deptford again; where, at the Commissioner’s and the Globe, we staid long. And so I to Mr. Davis’s to bed again. But no sooner in bed, but we had an alarm, and so we rose: and the Comptroller comes into the Yard to us; and seamen of all the ships present repair to us, and there we armed with every one a handspike, with which they were as fierce as could be. At last we hear that it was only five or six men that did ride through the guard in the town, without stopping to the guard that was there; and, some say, shot at them. But all being quiet there, we caused the seamen to go on board again: And so we all to bed (after I had sat awhile with Mr. Davis in his study, which is filled with good books and some very good song books) I likewise to bed.

in the cold you reach
beyond any rose

hips and hands
ride without stopping

quiet on a bed
filled with song

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 13 January 1660/61.

January 13, 2024January 11, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Variation and Fugue

Her friends who have toddlers around the same
age exclaim in wonder at how rapidly they're learning

language—more cereal, no, cuddle, reading! Sometimes
when she looks at them she's reminded of when she  

was a young mother, learning to love her new mother-
body even as she poured herself out to her children. 

She's grateful they don't regard her as merely an older 
woman who now and again stands outside looking at the moon 

while the fig tree wraps its arms around her. How does one 
regard the future as more than the approach of a limit, 

more than the place of reckoning (joy and heartbreak, 
reproach and remorse)? In this life there's so much we owe. 

But what is life if not spent the way we weep unabashed, 
the way we give until even the crumbs fill the mouths of birds?

January 12, 2024January 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Chionophile

a connoisseur of oblivion
i begin with small omissions

goodbye to the twigs of my fingers
farewell to the far in my feet

my neglected face goes feral
till i’m lost in a forest of fur

closer and closer to the color of snow
as i grow colder

away from any furrow
burrowing into the twilight

catching flakes on my tongue
that taste like nothing else

Chionophiles are any organisms (animals, plants, fungi, etc.) that can thrive in cold winter conditions (the word is derived from the Greek word chion meaning “snow”, and -phile meaning “lover”). These animals have specialized adaptations that help them survive the harshest winters.
Wikipedia

January 12, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Tree-hugger

With Colonel Slingsby and a friend of his, Major Waters (a deaf and most amorous melancholy gentleman, who is under a despayr in love, as the Colonel told me, which makes him bad company, though a most good-natured man), by water to Redriffe, and so on foot to Deptford (our servants by water), where we fell to choosing four captains to command the guards, and choosing the places where to keep them, and other things in order thereunto. We dined at the Globe, having our messenger with us to take care for us. Never till now did I see the great authority of my place, all the captains of the fleet coming cap in hand to us.
Having staid very late there talking with the Colonel, I went home with Mr. Davis, storekeeper (whose wife is ill and so I could not see her), and was there most prince-like lodged, with so much respect and honour that I was at a loss how to behave myself.

am I in love
alone and on foot

choosing places to care for
I see it all

a home
like I have myself

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 12 January 1660/61.

January 12, 2024January 10, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

The Moon Moves Around 1.49 Inches Away from the Earth Each Year

"The true shape of love... is absence."
                    ~ Sean Thomas Dougherty


I carry it in my arms all day, every
day. This is how I know it's more 

than its absence. Pre-emptive can mean 
that before the clock strikes the hour, 

I've lit all the lamps against darkness.  I eat
early and drink glass after glass of water 

before midnight; after, I take nothing by mouth 
for a test in the morning. It feels like there's 

a hollow in my gut. There, only the thrashing 
of branches like whips in the wind. But I keep 

returning: how can I believe silence 
only means refusal, only means a turning 

away? Remember me as more than 
a moon that drifted from your orbit.

January 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Epidemiology

Office day. This day comes news, by letters from Portsmouth, that the Princess Henrietta is fallen sick of the meazles on board the London, after the Queen and she was under sail. And so was forced to come back again into Portsmouth harbour; and in their way, by negligence of the pilot, run upon the Horse sand. The Queen and she continue aboard, and do not intend to come on shore till she sees what will become of the young Princess. This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease, one after another. This morning likewise, we had order to see guards set in all the King’s yards; and so we do appoint who and who should go to them. Sir Wm. Batten to Chatham, Colonel Slingsby and I to Deptford and Woolwich. Portsmouth being a garrison, needs none.
Dined at home, discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids. After dinner comes in Kate Sterpin (whom we had not seen a great while) and her husband to see us, with whom I staid a while, and then to the office, and left them with my wife.
At night walked to Paul’s Churchyard, and bespoke some books against next week, and from thence to the Coffeehouse, where I met Captain Morrice, the upholster, who would fain have lent me a horse to-night to have rid with him upon the Cityguards, with the Lord Mayor, there being some new expectations of these rogues; but I refused by reason of my going out of town tomorrow. So home to bed.

mouth of the queen
mouth of the horse

what will become
of the young disease

like a hat a mouth
needs content

at night in the coffeehouse
where I met a horse

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 11 January 1660/61.

January 11, 2024January 7, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Prisms

Today we take down the gilded baubles strung
          over the porch, but keep the tree up for one

more night. It's past the Feast of the Epiphany,
        but there's always a pilgrimage being made

somewhere. Where do you find the bell's missing 
        tongue, its brass compass; the bird that a high wind 

swung out of a tree? I've always loved looking at
        stained glass windows, but then we stopped going

to church in the time of the plague. How light sought
        the brilliance of other colors in order to tell a fuller

story: the blue-edged hem of the woman's skirt, 
        the bud of the child's mouth near her breast. Flash 

of an ankle, foot crushing without hesitation the serpent's
         blue-green head, its body a rope of silk unwinding.