I sleep cold at low tide,
back to a naked beach
opening herself to the Pacific.
I own no Nook, cell phone, boat,
wear old jeans, rag coat –
sift trash, eat molded cheese,
ketchup packs from burger sacks,
fallen fruit off condo trees.
I text my name in water, on sand,
under a moonless sky, pee hate
through the graveyard gate
when headstones tug at my thighs.
– Timothy Pilgrim
Timothy Pilgrim, a Montanan and journalism professor at Western Washington University in Bellingham, is a Pacific Northwest poet with over 130 published poems. His work has found a home at journals such as Seattle Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Windfall and Meadowland Review, as well as anthologies such as “Idaho’s poets: A Centennial Anthology” (University of Idaho Press). Google him or go to timothypilgrim.org.
