Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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The ox and lamb kept time
I got crumbs on myself but didn’t care. Everything slanted downwards. The crumbs got caught in the folds of my robe but dislodged and rolled like stones into the folds of the couch. All about it was gray and serene,… Read More ›
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Maybe it will work out just fine
With enough scrubbing and scouring powder I was able to get the nasty stains out of the bottom of the Dutch oven. It was a funny plum color. I’d had it for many years and hadn’t treated it well. Returning… Read More ›
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Corpse pose
Sometimes as a kid I imagined the darkness was a palpable thing. It had depth and dimensions, contours like a canyon. If I wasn’t careful the shape of the darkness would bloom and swallow me and I’d feel the sense… Read More ›
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That last Saturday this fall
There’s just an inch of pink in the sky in a sea of clouds. The clouds are a Rothko in shades of gray, swollen at the bottom. But the clouds move fast and offer more strands of pink below, a… Read More ›
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Wintry mix
I should know better than to use these cheap haircut salons even if it’s just for a neck trim or light cosmetic work. Today she misunderstood me and shaved half an inch above my ear in a clean line around… Read More ›
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All the young dudes
I liked making stews this time of year. Last year it was the seafood gumbo and Guyanese pepperpot, this year a pork shoulder braised with lemon, green olives and tomatoes. But I’m starting to sense the stews are more appreciated… Read More ›
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Rat torture scene reveal
By the time we got to winter it already felt like spring in the Pacific Northwest. A few things bloomed and the Christmas bugs returned, those gray, floppy, mosquito-like creatures that come every January. I don’t mind the bugs but… Read More ›
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Sunday sauce
Any real Italian would add that leftover liquid from the jarred anchovies to the pasta sauce I thought, though the smell was pungent and the contents unknown. Probably olive oil and whatever salty oils had sloughed off the fish. So… Read More ›
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Spirit of the rising sun
Just the radio in the corner and the heater blowing. The year winds down. We had so much rain this week they compared it to the floods of 1990 but this week was worse. I stayed in all day, no… Read More ›
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Salthill Promenade, 2015
At times the rain could be maddening, the repetition. And it got so dark you had to watch your mood or you could slip under. I thought back to our time in Salthill, outside of Galway, when our family came… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 