Poems by Tim Applegate

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by Tim Applegate

From Canary Fall 2015

Tim lives in the foothills of the coastal range in western Oregon.

A feral cat, pale as smoke, paws at a fishbone
wedged into the rocks at the edge of the harbor
where the fishermen clean their daily catch.

At his window, Hashim watches the cat
slink away and disappear
in the shadows of the ramparts. Then
he closes the curtain and turns back
to his bowl of tagine, cup of mint tea,
book of ancient verses.

Tomorrow, they say, the wind will rise like wrath
and build towering walls of water, but Hashim
is unafraid because he knows
that everything was written long ago.
Written in the sand, carved in stone, slashed
into the bark of the argan trees.

He falls asleep
whispering the familiar verses.
In his dream a blue boat
breaks loose from its mooring and floats
out to sea, the fog’s only color.

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