We debated what to do with the uneaten ham. It was impractical to stuff it in the car with all our things, tacky to leave it behind for the owners, wasteful to throw it out, and so I climbed the… Read More ›
christmas
Through the gap in Shakespeare’s garden
Christmas in West Cork: Cork, a town on the southern coast of Ireland, “West Cork” the territory to the left of it loosely defined by small towns with names like Skibbereen, which we visit just so we can say we… Read More ›
The 1 o’clock IPA
The day was so dark it hardly felt like the day. The Internet was down again, a desperate feeling over the house, something was off. He talked to the man about a job, talked to him through a text message,… Read More ›
What little light reflects on the lake
The house had the look of drunks about it, the left behind, random disorder of things not put away, fallen on their sides, not cared for. Light bulbs, plush toys, DVDs all sharing the same shelf by the stereo speaker…. Read More ›
The ass from the manger scene
It’s the 15 year anniversary since our first date, and Dawn and I get into a spat over the gingerbread decorating event planned by the Girl Scout troop at a local school. I ask, what do we do while they’re… Read More ›
White pigment
A frog makes a corkscrew croak, keeps warm, sings A friend’s mix tape in the garage, where men go, to hide A picture of a writer on a rocker with a notepad and pen, threads pulled from his pocket, he… Read More ›
Post card from the food bank
I volunteered to help Lisa man the diaper station, by the front door. A woman from a mental illness organization gave us a talk before we opened, and another explained the logistics of how it works, warning us that it’s… Read More ›
There’s a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy
Time gets pushed to the corner and online commerce swoops in for button-pushing holiday shopping. I’ve done it, because I don’t have time and I get stressed out about missing deadlines, so I enter my credit card and walk away…. Read More ›
The Golden Hour of Knowing, The Witchcraft of Writing
I repositioned a photo of my dad in a mirror over the fireplace in our den. It’s odd because I look at the mirror and see myself, and also see him in the corner, and I look at both of… Read More ›
Cooking the carcass
Thanksgiving falls so late this year, it’s like two dinner guests turning up at the same time who shouldn’t, making things awkward. Neighbors were out putting up lights before Thanksgiving even started, and I found myself doing the same. The… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 