A voice is wailing from the radio, an opera, in a language I don’t understand. The gray today is like a palm pressing down on my head or worse, a pillow. One kid is in the shower with the radio… Read More ›
William Pearse writer
Removed
I can still remember the first Sony Walkman head phones and how it felt when the metal frame slipped out and rubbed against my temples. I didn’t care, it still felt like magic. The Police had come out with their… Read More ›
Norwegian wood
He turned bowls made out of reclaimed wood from the dead or fallen trees, the Norwegian maple from a cemetery reformed in the shape of a bowl Dawn picked out; we’d find a special place for it in our home…. Read More ›
One remembrance
We dropped down into Denver, the lights below, the wisps of cloud and snow, a funny time of year to visit. A time you wouldn’t unless you had to, the passing of my brother-in-law Chip, a celebration of life at… Read More ›
Sunday night with the tree
And I wondered what it thought of all this ornamentation and this fuss: this cruel ending.
Their home
This is where they’d started their family, when it was their home.
Thanks giving
And then for a time it is just the sound of the dog licking an empty bowl I’ve turned out all the lights so the coming dawn can fill every room and why do we say, “I’m filled with loss”… Read More ›
