Tag Archives: William Pearse writer

Reserving the giblets

I drank an ale and made the gravy. The gravy was to be made over several hours the book said. Outside it was gray and Dawn said look at that rain. It hadn’t been raining before, it just started, so … Continue reading

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Don’t blame Belfast (2017)

As we wound down to the end of November we found ourselves in Belfast. The rain came on, the sideways rain, the same rain we knew from Seattle this time of year. And when I went to the shops to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 12 Comments

The jagged blades the thin white veil

In the gray¬†light of morning the thin grass blades turned brown beneath the snow, the barn in the back, the sound of the heat through the vents, the coffeemaker, the keys clicking like teeth when I type: here, they all … Continue reading

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I sat down with my boss in an alcove off to the side in an area intended for casual conversation. Everything was done at that point, I’d signed the paperwork and decided I was leaving. Both of us were relieved, … Continue reading

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Light a candle for now

After the wind storm I came downstairs and looked outside. The stars were out, the moon the shape of a hook, it seemed like it was just full. I lit some candles and made coffee. All this going back to … Continue reading

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The Fall of 2015 | The Chauffeur’s Flat

We fell asleep with the laptop on watching Bob Ross the painter dragging colors down to form a reflection, shapes along the shorelines in reverse. And I went back to poking a coal of memory, a no-name place in the … Continue reading

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Dead souls soliloquy (for Archie Loss)

The cat is all business, can be found in the morning by the garage door flap like a killer in the shadows waiting in the dark for anything trying to get inside. Dawn remarked, there’s mouse innards in the utility … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments