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

  • Green, Orange

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    Moss is emerging in our yard like a new nation, making the trees look like a psychedelic Yes album or a Tolkien book. I relocated the remains of the fruit tree to the back, day-dreamed in the hot tub, thought… Read More ›

  • Aping Carver

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    She talked about him a lot, the ex. Like an instruction manual for how to treat her, but in a different language. Woman Language. If I could figure out what went wrong with him, maybe I could be the one…. Read More ›

  • You brought smiles

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    Balloon on a string in an empty room Head on the ceiling like any other ghost, Just trying to get out The ribbons lose their luster The cheeks start to sag They’ll find bits of you in the trees, Your… Read More ›

  • Mirrorball

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    Pat Dolan and his brother Damien lived up the street. Their dad Mr. Dolan was a cop, a huge cop: he filled the doorway when he stood. We sat on the front doorstep and spat. We had just learned how… Read More ›

  • Us

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    I was making my nest: a studio apartment at the base of Pill Hill in Seattle, basement floor. It looked onto a courtyard no one could access, and the top half of a parking lot. My bed was up on… Read More ›

  • When 5 feels like 4

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    I don’t know what happened to that hour, but we won’t get it back until after Halloween. I got nominated for a blog award on Friday, which felt good and was really nice, but when I got into it Saturday… Read More ›

  • At home with the sea

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    The tide pushes against my shins and my feet disappear into the sand. I’m anchored here now, against the sea, with sky, sun, moon, mountains. The water curls around me, tugging, saying You are part of this, too.

  • The Crawl Space

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    We stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching Phyllis eat the mouse. Normally diminutive, she had a wild look now, jowls besmirched and wet. We listened as she chewed, and watched as she gagged-down nearly all of it, leaving… Read More ›

  • When plants and animals realize they’re unwanted

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    I stopped caring about my houseplants when Lily was born. It dawned on me, why do we keep carrying these things around? They looked ratty, and left stains on the window sill. One by one I started thinning them out:… Read More ›

  • The Comfort Zone

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    The instructor drew a circle on the whiteboard, said This is the Comfort Zone. There’s no risk of failure here because you know the job, but there’s no development, either. Then he drew a circle around the first one: This… Read More ›