It is this time, I think to myself on the couch, that I will want to keep with me forever.
William Pearse writer
Taking stock
The problem started with the awareness that the days were blurring together with little to set them apart.
Slim fields of winter
And I just have to think, to consider the amount of loss I’ll feel when everyone is out of the house and it’s just me, positioning things exactly as they should be.
Once a parent
Lily makes a gun shape out of her hand and puts it to her mouth, pulls the trigger. This, on a Sunday in response to me reminding her that she needs to get ready for confirmation class, if she wants… Read More ›
Boy Scouts, coming for the dead
Outside the neighbor’s rhododendron was flapping, the tall trees swaying. We were between fronts. What they call a sun break out here. I remembered the Boy Scouts were coming for the dead Christmas trees but you had to have them… Read More ›
There and not
The same collection of poems, taking it slowly, reading it since fall, not wanting it to end. And if only I could get a pinch of Carver in my work, that was the stuff! Even a shake could transform me…. Read More ›
Moderate rain starting in 15 minutes
All night I bathed myself in the rolling sounds of ambient music, an infinite loop, bobbing up and down And woke to the sound of one of the kids calling to Alexa, to turn theirs off And downstairs to the… Read More ›
The red thread
All the store fronts had their hours posted but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t for the life of me remember what day it was. The names shrank away when I focused on the letters and returned no results. And… Read More ›
Broken clouds
What little light from this, these broken clouds.
The last of the daily monastic offices
I got up and drank coffee, cooked bacon, went back to bed. I lay on the sofa with my face against the leather and the pale mid-morning light, the sound of blues music and the cat mewing, the laundry machine,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 