I go to nature to heal, I go every day. And though it always feels the same, it never is. I rummage through the past and present, I go looking for what others leave behind. I didn’t expect the moon… Read More ›
fall
Portrait of a subject reduced to a thread
The ticking of the clock, the rain drops, the same sound of the wood burning when it pops. There’s no sound like that on digital clocks. And at the traffic light we converge for a time: everyone looking down, in… Read More ›
They know it’s time to go
After 89 days without a good rain it was definitive it would come back Sunday. We were gearing up for the first fire of the season, a stew, some red wine, music. We’d move the patio furniture to the garage,… Read More ›
The lake waves look like hands on the shore
Now the lake advances in creeping hands along the shore and the lifeguard chair is empty, there’s the threat of showers, the tree boughs move with the underwater look of deep-sea creatures in slow motion and the frog beneath our… Read More ›
Leaves clawing the cobblestones
When the French arrive, it’s with armsful of things from France: breads wrapped in brown paper bags, coolers full of cheese, boxes of wine, even duvets for their beds. It feels like a hotel and we lose track of how… Read More ›
First poem for fall
That first fall something found me there, the greys and browns of northwest Pennsylvania, what little light you find come November, the last of the leaves flapping just a few here and there, and yet … Read More ›
Leaves in a book
The days end like that, the same way they begin, me on my side gripping a pillow, wondering what day it is. Walking the steps at work, up the parking lot floors: walls made out of cinder block, what it… Read More ›
Why the leaves fall
There is an old woman collecting leaves on the sidewalk No one notices what happens to all the leaves They are like days we sometimes save and they can be beautiful, and look like all the rest The days are… Read More ›
Prism of grocery store clerk impressions
The song Lunatic Fringe comes on overhead and the checker, who’s deep in her 50s, looks up and disappears for a moment to another time, smiles a secret smile to herself and goes off to another place, all her own…. Read More ›
“Trapped in the amber of this moment”
I finished the Harry Potter series on Saturday, and felt the loss at the end of the story, no more. I got cranky and unmotivated, hard to be around. I started getting obsessed with death themes. I had a dream… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 