My writing space is a sunroom best-suited for cold-or-cloud-blooded creatures (hot in summer, gray all winter), but nonetheless provides a spot for writing/reading, an optimistic store of blank notebooks, shadows of a row of cartoonishly tall and pliable poplars, and a view toward Ballard’s rising condos (each a friend known only by first name—Leva, Ava, Koi, and Vik), the ridgeline and water towers of Discovery Park, a slice of Bainbridge Island, The Brothers, Mount Constance, but nothing so binocular-worthy as the ephemeral billboards of 15th Ave, last week selling Fjällräven, this week Halos brand California mandarins (“pure goodness”). William Gass: “The privacy which a book makes public is nevertheless made public very privately—not like the billboard which shouts at the street…”
Bill Carty is a former poetry fellow at the Hugo House and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. His chapbook, Refugium, was published by Alice Blue Books, and his poetry has recently appeared or his forthcoming the Boston Review, the Iowa Review, Willow Springs, Conduit, Pleiades, Oversound, and other journals. He is an associate editor at Poetry Northwest.