Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 56

• Twilight gazing

  By Bill Pearse on July 23, 2020 • ( 4 )

  

  At night the light through our bedroom window is a deep blue and the fan blows by the dog’s bed, and I think most times I don’t realize how good we’ve got it. There’s the skylight with the pole I… Read More ›

• Looking out a window that isn’t there

  By Bill Pearse on July 22, 2020 • ( 22 )

  

  We watched the days combine down. Grew more irritable with each other and felt some new edges to the quarantine. In that clinical way the help turns tables at large events or restaurants so I did with my family: no… Read More ›

• Grace given over nostalgic fabrics

  By Bill Pearse on July 18, 2020 • ( 22 )

  

  This shirt. This shirt I got at a second hand shop in Liverpool that’s rayon with blue flowers and rust-colored accents. Had it since ‘98. Like the beloved rayon shirt in college I buried my cat Sherman in, just because…. Read More ›

• Connected to the land like a severed hand

  By Bill Pearse on July 17, 2020 • ( 13 )

  

  Summer ran down. The mosquitoes had no need for me, my blood was bad. They sat on me with their proboscises out but couldn’t get it in. But the flies! Flies all over me, mistaken me for dead, for excrement…. Read More ›

• That feel

  By Bill Pearse on July 14, 2020 • ( 15 )

  

  I sat waiting for it with my eyes closed. I heard the music from upstairs mix with the sounds of my own music. I chewed the ends of my mustache and saw the pattern of grass and how it looked… Read More ›

• Postcards from a distance, “wish you weren’t here”

  By Bill Pearse on July 11, 2020 • ( 15 )

  

  There is a pervasive sense of loss in all this, a strange peace that could be a kind of acceptance or another form of dismay. The frame of our worlds collapsing down, retracting.

• Terror twilight

  By Bill Pearse on July 10, 2020 • ( 10 )

  

  The bobcat in our yard must have disrupted the balance because everyone was talking about it from the crows to the neighbor dogs to the lesser birds and bats. They were all peeping and cheeping and the crows, with that… Read More ›

• Face ID

  By Bill Pearse on July 9, 2020

  

  The reflection throws back a version of myself that’s real but see-through The gray light of day. The pattern of squares across my window pane. The sound of a record from another time projecting me backwards and setting me down… Read More ›

• The meaning of existence can’t be supplied by religion or ideology

  By Bill Pearse on July 7, 2020 • ( 22 )

  

  Last night’s wood fire still broods, it hangs in the air. I am made older by it, my inability to relate. And the desire to retreat inwards, down a path with no exit and no room to turn around.

• Song for the downward slant

  By Bill Pearse on June 30, 2020 • ( 4 )

  

  The moon plumps up, bugs thicken. We watch the swallows by the lake flitter like bats in the morning. How blue the sky, clouds provide texture. You can look up there and pretend it’s a moving picture or maybe the… Read More ›

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