Via Negativa

February 28, 2026February 28, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Flightless

Up and to my office, whither several persons came to me about office business. About 11 o’clock, Commissioner Pett and I walked to Chyrurgeon’s Hall (we being all invited thither, and promised to dine there); where we were led into the Theatre; and by and by comes the reader, Dr. Tearne, with the Master and Company, in a very handsome manner: and all being settled, he begun his lecture, this being the second upon the kidneys, ureters, and yard, which was very fine; and his discourse being ended, we walked into the Hall, and there being great store of company, we had a fine dinner and good learned company, many Doctors of Phisique, and we used with extraordinary great respect.
Among other observables we drank the King’s health out of a gilt cup given by King Henry VIII. to this Company, with bells hanging at it, which every man is to ring by shaking after he hath drunk up the whole cup. There is also a very excellent piece of the King, done by Holbein, stands up in the Hall, with the officers of the Company kneeling to him to receive their Charter.
After dinner Dr. Scarborough took some of his friends, and I went along with them, to see the body alone, which we did, which was a lusty fellow, a seaman, that was hanged for a robbery. I did touch the dead body with my bare hand: it felt cold, but methought it was a very unpleasant sight.
It seems one Dillon, of a great family, was, after much endeavours to have saved him, hanged with a silken halter this Sessions (of his own preparing), not for honour only, but it seems, it being soft and sleek, it do slip close and kills, that is, strangles presently: whereas, a stiff one do not come so close together, and so the party may live the longer before killed. But all the Doctors at table conclude, that there is no pain at all in hanging, for that it do stop the circulation of the blood; and so stops all sense and motion in an instant.
Thence we went into a private room, where I perceive they prepare the bodies, and there were the kidneys, ureters, yard, stone and semenary vessels upon which he read to-day, and Dr. Scarborough upon my desire and the company’s did show very clearly the manner of the disease of the stone and the cutting and all other questions that I could think of, and the manner of that seed, how it comes into the yard, and how the water into the bladder through the three skins or coats just as poor Dr. Jolly has heretofore told me.
Thence with great satisfaction to me back to the Company, where I heard good discourse, and so to the afternoon Lecture upon the heart and lungs, &c., and that being done we broke up, took leave, and back to the office, we two, Sir W. Batten, who dined here also, being gone before.
Here late, and to Sir W. Batten’s to speak upon some business, where I found Sir J. Minnes pretty well fuddled I thought: he took me aside to tell me how being at my Lord Chancellor’s to-day, my Lord told him that there was a Great Seal passing for Sir W. Pen, through the impossibility of the Comptroller’s duty to be performed by one man; to be as it were joynt-comptroller with him, at which he is stark mad; and swears he will give up his place, and do rail at Sir W. Pen the cruellest; he I made shift to encourage as much as I could, but it pleased me heartily to hear him rail against him, so that I do see thoroughly that they are not like to be great friends, for he cries out against him for his house and yard and God knows what. For my part, I do hope, when all is done, that my following my business will keep me secure against all their envys. But to see how the old man do strut, and swear that he understands all his duty as easily as crack a nut, and easier, he told my Lord Chancellor, for his teeth are gone; and that he understands it as well as any man in England; and that he will never leave to record that he should be said to be unable to do his duty alone; though, God knows, he cannot do it more than a child. All this I am glad to see fall out between them and myself safe, and yet I hope the King’s service will done for all this, for I would not that should be hindered by any of our private differences.
So to my office, and then home to supper and to bed.

we go to see a man
hanged for robbery

I touch the dead body
with my bare hand

cold as silk
sleek as a seed

and I hear the fuddled
impossibility of a heart

like one wing unable
alone to hope

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 27 February 1662/63.

February 28, 2026February 27, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Connect the Dots

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

High up on my left thigh, a brown mole,
its tint muted by time. I used to wonder
if this could be listed as one of my
"identifying features"— what's meant 
when describing the shape of your nose,
how your brows arch or careen to the left 
while the other lies inert as a tent 
that could never be raised. Most 
of the time I forget it's even there. 
Not something to register, stepping out 
of the shower and toweling off. My mother 
had moles across her back— a page out of 
connect-the-dots coloring books like the ones
she bought so I could amuse myself and never
be bored. Connect the dots, from one to ten 
to fifty to almost a hundred, the age she 
would have been had she not passed away 
at ninety. After I gave birth to my first
child, she handed me a warmed-up cup
of coconut oil to stroke across my
belly. For the stretch marks, she said.
For helping speed up the skin's snapping
back to the state it was before it
was marked by life, if I was lucky.

February 27, 2026February 27, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Little Essay on Disorder

The bottom drawer holding sweaters and 
scarves: you can't make it stick, except 
with a wad of cardboard. The refrigerator 
leans slightly to the right, resting against 
a wooden block you inserted between its shoulder 
and the wall. The jagged line across the counter 
panels, invisible until you look under the top: 
like the view of a crooked gap in the teeth 
of someone when they finally smile with their 
whole mouth. There's so much inventory you 
can list of the mismatched, the propped-
up, the almost falling down. Your dream,
when you dreamed of a house, was of floors
that flowed smooth as the afternoon light
falling on them through windows. Rooms
you could almost hear breathing, before
the years filled them with clothes and 
furniture, small appliances that chimed  
or sang the start of the day or the end  
of a washing cycle. You want to apologize
to keys and quilts, bottles of cleaner 
under the sink, the orange in the fruit
bowl and the banana that turned mushy— 
at least explain how all you wanted was 
an orderly life, the magic of simplicity
and alignment. But they remind you again
that this is what it is. And if you are
tender to yourself, you'll hear and 
maybe even smell the rain falling on 
asphalt, unroll the waxed and wrinkled 
map of this life which shows you there 
are still wildnesses left unexplored.

February 26, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Worm

Up and drinking a draft of wormewood wine with Sir W. Batten at the Steelyard, he and I by water to the Parliament-house: he went in, and I walked up and down the Hall. All the news is the great odds yesterday in the votes between them that are for the Indulgence to the Papists and Presbyters, and those that are against it, which did carry it by 200 against 30. And pretty it is to consider how the King would appear to be a stiff Protestant and son of the Church; and yet would appear willing to give a liberty to these people, because of his promise at Breda. And yet all the world do believe that the King would not have this liberty given them at all.
Thence to my Lord’s, who, I hear, has his ague again, for which I am sorry, and Creed and I to the King’s Head ordinary, where much good company. Among the rest a young gallant lately come from France, who was full of his French, but methought not very good, but he had enough to make him think himself a wise man a great while. Thence by water from the New Exchange home to the Tower, and so sat at the office, and then writing letters till 11 at night.
Troubled this evening that my wife is not come home from Chelsey, whither she is gone to see the play at the school where Ashwell is, but she came at last, it seems, by water, and tells me she is much pleased with Ashwell’s acting and carriage, which I am glad of.
So home and to supper and bed.

a worm at the steelyard
the odds are against it
in a stiff world

this liberty
is in the king’s head
where you make water

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 26 February 1662/63.

February 26, 2026February 25, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

In Praise of the Blue Death-Feigning Beetle

It isn't only nonhuman creatures who live
       on sweetness that turns to rot,

on flesh before it shrinks to carrion
       then bone. Sometimes, we have 

no choice. We solder what scraps 
       we find, fashion these into armor, 

knowing how the body underneath is
       a lesson in smallness and easy 

bruising. The moon spills silver. 
       Even the desert holds its breath 

when dark shadows pass overhead, ready 
       to swoop down for the kill: the signal 

to fold in on ourselves. Consider the iron-
       clad beetle, plated with warts. 

It rolls over in the face of danger,  
       turns into the very idea of death.  

It clicks so still, the world mistakes  
       its blue for gone. I want to learn 

this trick, train my body to disappear 
       in plain view until the coast 

is clear. To come back alive, still 
       stubborn, unruined, not yet done.

February 25, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Freeze

Up and to my office, where with Captain Cocke making an end of his last night’s accounts till noon, and so home to dinner, my wife being come in from laying out about 4l. in provision of several things against Lent. In the afternoon to the Temple, my brother’s, the Wardrobe, to Mr. Moore, and other places, called at about small businesses, and so at night home to my office and then to supper and to bed.
The Commons in Parliament, I hear, are very high to stand to the Act of Uniformity, and will not indulge the Papists (which is endeavoured by the Court Party) nor the Presbyters.

ice-making is night
laying out a vision of war

other places all home
to a common uniform

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 25 February 1662/63.

February 25, 2026February 25, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Star Café

I remember Star Café on Session Road, the place
my father and his friends gathered for a brew.
For me, a cold bottle of chocolate milk; a plate

of fries, homework spread out on the oily table.
Waiters balanced plates of noodles, walking through
iconic Star Café on Session Road. Now, no trace

of this haunt that held memories with such grace.
And fewer, now, the pines that fog can sidle through.
Cold beads on a glass of chocolate milk— that glaze

bends my focus to that faraway childhood place.
Remember egg pie, quail eggs in oyster sauce? Who
still remembers Star Café on Session Road, a place

where time moved on yet anchored itself in place,
in memory? Hands moved pieces over chessboards. Who
knew how much I'd miss Star Cafe, this ordinary place 
whose doors swung open to a cold glass, a warm plate.

February 24, 2026February 24, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Poem with a Line from Nay Saysourinho

We don't have to lie when we're incredible.
Believe the way you walk into the room, then.
Take possession of the air. The AC's the lie— 
carefully controlled temperature that lies
between don't melt or scorch. The chandelier
tinkles faintly. Greenery's espaliered against
the wall. But you can rearrange any disbelief
so it shreds like cheap plastic. Saliently
discomfited that you show up in this milieu
(where youth and beauty believe the lie about
their superiority), the jurors lie: they "always 
had you in their sights." In lieu of praise,
a token. In lieu of acceptance, the chance 
to be redeemed by those holier than you.

February 24, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Deportee

Slept hard till 8 o’clock, then waked by Mr. Clerke’s being come to consult me about Field’s business, which we did by calling him up to my bedside, and he says we shall trounce him.
Then up, and to the office, and at 11 o’clock by water to Westminster, and to Sir W. Wheeler’s about my Lord’s borrowing of money that I was lately upon with him, and then to my Lord, who continues ill, but will do well I doubt not.
Among other things, he tells me that he hears the Commons will not agree to the King’s late declaration, nor will yield that the Papists have any ground given them to raise themselves up again in England, which I perceive by my Lord was expected at Court. Thence home again by water presently, and with a bad dinner, being not looked for, to the office, and there we sat, and then Captn. Cocke and I upon his hemp accounts till 9 at night, and then, I not very well, home to supper and to bed. My late distemper of heat and itching being come upon me again, so that I must think of sweating again as I did before.

I wake in a field
one ear to the ground
a present of the night
itching

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 24 February 1662/63.

February 23, 2026February 23, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Sonnenizio with a line from Anne Sexton

Just once I knew what life was for.
The hoarders though, once they got
their hands on it, said once is not
enough. Ones, tens, twenties, currency
in whatever form whet one's appetite
for more and more. For a taste, just once
what would you give or give up? Once, we
lined up for ashes, the ones drawn in
the shape of a cross: reminder that wants
are different from needs, that once this
life is done, one's status and wealth are
of no consequence. Once upon a time, I
wanted just as much and hard as any. 
Once, I thought I knew what life was for.