Isolation: cold word, with ice in its veins, not to mention that other sound, “shun,” at the end. I think of all those rhymed relatives: nation, duration, desolation, ovulation, creation—dozens of cousins, those blood relations bound to us by skeins of sound. Alone, cut off from you, loves, there’s not much to do […]
Ed Harkness
Edward Harkness is the author of three full-length poetry collections, Saying the Necessary, Beautiful Passing Lives, and most recently, The Law of the Unforeseen (2018, Pleasure Boat Studio press). His poems can be found online in 2River, Atticus Review, Cascadia Review, The Good Men Project, Hinchas de Poesia, The Humanist, Rat’s Ass Journal, Raven Chronicles, Salt River Review, Split Lip Magazine, Switched-On Gutenberg and Terrain.Org., as well as in print journals including, most recently, Chariton Review and Miramar. His chapbook, Ice Children, was published by Split Lip Press in 2014. He lives in Shoreline, Washington. To hear Ed read selected poems from The Law of the Unforeseen, including “Tying a Tie” and “Airborne,” the two winning poems of Terrain.org’s 8th Annual Contest in Poetry (2018), go to https://www.terrain.org/2018/poetry/edward-harkness-2/.
The Big Project
Two sawhorses, a yard-sale hollow core door—my backyard worktable. On it, a pawnshop of tools: chop-saw, cat’s paw, level, cordless drill, square, nail apron in whose pockets are, yes, nails, tape, carpenter’s pencil and a peach pit. Ear protectors, eye protectors, gloves—all close at hand for my big project, a dog house. I […]
Half-breeds not otherwise counted
Thus, in the florid script of 1870— ink now well-faded—the census taker for King County, Washington Territory, has listed the names on a page titled “Half-breeds not otherwise counted.” The names have blurred—a flock of birds lost in fog. One clear name: “Mathilda,” age one year. On the line above, Mary, her mother, […]
Holding the New Baby, I Feel the Feather Weight of My Death
He has arrived earlier than expected, light as a small bag of apples in my lap. Now and then he rouses to blink the black opals of his eyes, still mostly sightless after all that time in the dark. I’m his father’s father and— oh, what the hell—I’m on a short leash, wondering if […]