Author Archives

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

• Hello, goodbye

  By pinklightsabre on December 15, 2019 • ( 1 )

  In the dream I had just gotten a sleeve tattoo, like the armor on a teenaged mutant ninja turtle, panes from a tortoise shell, orange and red. And I was walking into the Starbucks corporate office for a new job,… Read More ›

• Song for late autumn Saturdays

  By pinklightsabre on December 14, 2019 • ( 18 )

  

  A voice is wailing from the radio, an opera, in a language I don’t understand. The gray today is like a palm pressing down on my head or worse, a pillow. One kid is in the shower with the radio… Read More ›

• Removed

  By pinklightsabre on December 13, 2019

  

  I can still remember the first Sony Walkman head phones and how it felt when the metal frame slipped out and rubbed against my temples. I didn’t care, it still felt like magic. The Police had come out with their… Read More ›

• Norwegian wood

  By pinklightsabre on December 12, 2019

  

  He turned bowls made out of reclaimed wood from the dead or fallen trees, the Norwegian maple from a cemetery reformed in the shape of a bowl Dawn picked out; we’d find a special place for it in our home…. Read More ›

• One remembrance

  By pinklightsabre on December 7, 2019 • ( 7 )

  

  We dropped down into Denver, the lights below, the wisps of cloud and snow, a funny time of year to visit. A time you wouldn’t unless you had to, the passing of my brother-in-law Chip, a celebration of life at… Read More ›

• Sunday night with the tree

  By pinklightsabre on December 4, 2019 • ( 16 )

  

  And I wondered what it thought of all this ornamentation and this fuss: this cruel ending.

• Their home

  By pinklightsabre on November 30, 2019 • ( 3 )

  This is where they’d started their family, when it was their home.