I tried to step outside of my name, to look at it objectively. It was a plain name, handed down from my dad—and to him, from his father. It was like all the other things that get handed down, the… Read More ›
journal writing
Near to fall
And so at last it was done, the book of poems I spent all summer with it seemed. They weren’t my poems, but became mine more and more each day. I sat on a chair in the grass and put… Read More ›
Gone are the 8 o’clock sunsets
How much was left undone by summer’s end, in the corner of our back yard by the maple tree. The work was coming in again, with everyone coming back from vacations and wanting their things fast-tracked, rush jobs. Learning all… Read More ›
Catching up with Pablo
At the end of a long day I cleaned myself in the back yard with Pablo Neruda, setting him down on my stomach, rubbing my eyes the way you would a catcher’s mitt, breaking it in. And I remembered a… Read More ›
Walking down the unlit hallway of life
Outside in the mid-afternoon there was just the sound of birds and kids and cars going by. It was too hot for anything, everyone hanging onto the edges by the shade. I’d gotten up when the church bells struck six… Read More ›
The day the rain stopped
The last rain fell on July 10. They were saying that was it, it would be a long time before it came back. When the rain ends in Seattle it’s like time stops—and when it returns it’s like an old… Read More ›
Decorative chains, lucky charms, symbols in garbage pails
In the morning it looked like it had rained over night, and the mountains were socked in with clouds. I took a last walk to the river but there wasn’t much to see, and the dog wasn’t out. The dog… Read More ›
Is, does, can, could: resolutions, one July
It’s gotten so that I can’t leave the windows open at night or it will get too cold. This morning it was 60 in the house and Dawn was in her sweater, cranky, like it was my fault. She’s at… Read More ›
‘Undead’
On the first day of summer I took my morning walk beneath a marine layer of clouds. The cool onshore flow was back, making the trees swish. The blackberry vines were starting to bud out with their green, knobby fists… Read More ›
‘Here we were’
It was so warm outside I could write with my shirt off in the shade. The maple tree by the sports court looked like one of the figures on Easter Island with its long face, except for the bat house… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 