Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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When the amber alert woke us at 3:43
We thought it was nuclear war and wished we’d bought more water and planned for this but instead it was just the life of some kid we didn’t know, not our own And we went back to bed with the… Read More ›
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The drugs don’t work
At first there is not much to remember. Our phone number, which mom makes me memorize. Our address, which is where we live. Both have a rhythm that helps me retain the pattern and I can hear the numbers in… Read More ›
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The secret to our future lies
In the dark corners of the library I am looking for my past. The corners are dark because it is the early 80s and I can barely picture it now. The new library has just opened in the old part… Read More ›
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In the mouth a desert
I wonder where the phones are leading our kids, are leading all of us, what it’s done to us and if it’s too late to undo.
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Tipping up and touching down
You could think that way if you wanted to, it was a funny way to think. Like you could go back for a redo. I’d been thinking that way for a while leading up to February. It was right when… Read More ›
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You can never hold back spring
Spring came quick. One day the birds were back and it seemed like life just resumed. Like everyone had been released from a witch’s spell, that’s how it felt. He worked in the yard and dug the heels of his… Read More ›
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Then the mid-life part began
In a sense it is like I am not here. And that is the thing about parenting, perhaps the point. To be there when you’re needed and then not at all. You see it in the wild with mother whales… Read More ›
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You can never quarantine the past
In fact Greek life mimics the same behaviors we knew before college, namely the idea of an exclusive club, same as the cliques we formed in high school or on the elementary school playground, the key difference being we added drugs and alcohol and girls.
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We were here
Books are one of the few things we can touch and handle in an intimate way and then share with strangers when we’re done.
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From a distance
At first the day had no discernible features to it, nothing to hold onto. A smooth rock face stretching up. I made my way through the dark to the coffee pot and back to the den with a blanket where… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 