If there’s a brotherly love that can happen between men, I felt it most for my old Cajun friend Myki. And I think about him every Fat Tuesday when the Mardi Gras music starts, and wonder what he’s up to…. Read More ›
identity
Dreams of being nude
The cat likes drinking out of the faucet and meets me in the bathroom at the same time every morning. She hops onto the sink, rubs the spout with her chin, makes a wet smacking sound as she laps. The… Read More ›
Don’t put on any airs when you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue
Life had a way of folding in on itself, unraveling in bizarre and beautiful patterns. You could watch and feel like you were a part of the fold or outside of it, not living but still alive. The pattern was… Read More ›
Waning crescent
Here it was, my whole life splayed out before me. Some days, just for an instant, I felt like I could do anything. The problem was, it felt so good I dwelled in that feeling and did nothing at all…. Read More ›
Portrait of the artist as a portrait model
No one smiles in these old portraits. They look stiff, like they’re already dead. Maybe it’s the knowledge only portrait models have that makes them look like that, deciding how you’ll look forever. They look trapped in their own time…. Read More ›
When the pines begin to cry
It had been a long time since I heard the owls cry in the night. Last night in bed I counted three in the distance, a hoot-hoot with a menacing tone. It reminded me of waking in Marrakech to the… Read More ›
Bridge content
I went back to work. Six months since the last contract. The timing wasn’t great with Lily just home from treatment but when you’ve been out of work for that long any timing will do. And when I heard it… Read More ›
April
The album is my link to him, it came out the year he died. It’s just called April and it was released on April 1, 2008. I remember buying the CD, standing outside the record store waiting for the bus…. Read More ›
Orchid piece
In the dark, in the window, in its tiny pot the orchid grows. The angles and edges we hardly notice while the orchid works to inhabit its small space. And for us no different, the quiet stirrings, the browned leaves,… Read More ›
Cordless
The bright red Mickey Mouse socks my kids gave me before the pandemic were now going pink and faded with holes opening at the heels. These socks, like so many things in my life, held small resonance. They meant something… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 