Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 70

• Song for April, the draw down

  By Bill Pearse on April 1, 2019 • ( 7 )

  How the sky draws down, this time of year, when it’s newly spring: there is no urgency to its ending, not like fall or winter: it is the start of the long days of haplessness, the spooling out of light,… Read More ›

• Happiness is easy

  By Bill Pearse on March 31, 2019 • ( 19 )

  Two weeks ago, we went to brunch at the local ale house and I tried to nap before going to the airport. In a moment of clarity, Lily deleted all the data on her phone and gave it to Charlotte,… Read More ›

• Real time

  By Bill Pearse on March 28, 2019 • ( 7 )

  Probably the most comforting thing I could do was drink in bed. When I quit drinking I wrote a list of all the things I pledged I wouldn’t do when I started drinking again and one of the top 3… Read More ›

• Song for late March, sung from a dog

  By Bill Pearse on March 25, 2019 • ( 6 )

  There was no way we could all live forever. My dog knew that by the way she looked at me when she folded back into a crease on the couch and smacked her lips; that was it right there, the… Read More ›

• No breaks (from a plane)

  By Bill Pearse on March 23, 2019 • ( 16 )

  There were times I felt like I had to write, I had the impulse, to save the moment. I thought I could just throw my arms out and surround it, I could throw my line in the water and bring… Read More ›

• Regret

  By Bill Pearse on March 12, 2019 • ( 9 )

  I imagined the house quiet, after they’d left. I could hear the memory of their voices as they were now, an echo. I could feel my heart pull in the way a hand contracts to a fist, the way a… Read More ›

• LGBTQIA, the new strong password

  By Bill Pearse on March 11, 2019 • ( 18 )

  I took Lily to her LGBTQIA support group for kids with mental and behavioral issues, dropped her in the lobby with her phone, then drove to Bellevue for a quiet drink. I sat at the bar with a shrimp cocktail,… Read More ›

• Down, down

  By Bill Pearse on March 5, 2019 • ( 12 )

  Down went the day, followed by the sun, the night, the moon which rose just a hair of itself, the kids, then us: the weights on the clock: everything goes down. They talk about the ascension, about what happens “after,”… Read More ›

• The turning back spot before coming down

  By Bill Pearse on March 3, 2019 • ( 1 )

  When the poem is done I let it take effect on me like a pill slid down my throat, waiting. And when at last you get to the top, when you’ve reached that place to stop and turn back, how… Read More ›

• Excavation of self, through rotten banana peels and skin

  By Bill Pearse on March 2, 2019 • ( 9 )

  At last the smell that was really me came to bare, to fully express itself, as a piece of rotten fruit or uneaten meat, table scraps left to bloom in some dark, neglected space. A smell, an essence, of toxins… Read More ›

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