BENJAMIN HARNETT
THE CABIN
When I see the structure go up,
the way the joists are tied
together, long beams, the ribs
that form the complicated roofline
measured, cut, and angled,
like the fossil impression
of fish in stone,
all by the men my father trained,
I feel a sense of insignificance.
He went up there himself, alone
to fix the stairs that are supposed
to wind from the basement
half earth-bermed,
with landings, of even risers,
and constant headroom; all “up to code.”
The railings on the loft
will be only just narrower
than the average baby’s head.
After the plasterers have come,
the cabin is filled with light
and the scent of earthy
possibility. Sawdust sweet,
and the tang of nails.
The water is sweet too,
I remember the day
the well-digging finally stopped,
and it sloshed like diamonds
in the pail. All I build with
are words.
They are awkward to cut
and shape, and when
I’ve got everything in order,
at last, the edifice
is frail. I see
the rough, knotted faces
of imperfect boards.
I could sit with them
unbuilt forever,
and sand, and sand, and sand.
We are builders, both, after all,
forming a cabin,
its walls that,
for a lifetime at least,
will stand.
Benjamin Harnett is a historian, fiction writer, poet, and digital engineer. His works have appeared recently in Pithead Chapel, Brooklyn Quarterly, Moon City Review, and Tahoma Literary Review. His story “Delivery” was chosen as Longform’s “Story of the Week.” He holds an MA in Classics from Columbia University, and in 2005 co-founded the fashion brand Hayden-Harnett. He lives in Beacon, NY with his wife Toni and their pets. He can be found most days on Twitter, @benharnett. He works for The New York Times.