Last Fall in Coal Harbour

 

This evening the seawall speaks

in tongues as the granite-haired man

plays Moon River on his sax.

Small dogs are leashed to women

wearing black spiked heels. 

 

Tide presses docks squealing

and straining against the steel

girding them to the stone bank: 

 

            what if the shore became the sea

            and the sea our walkways? 

 

Floatplanes groan across the inlet

on swollen pontoons lifting

overcrowded cruise ships

heading out to the inside passage —

foghorns rending deep into the port. 

 

Holding his painting close

to his cheek, the sidewalk artist says

finally and plainly to passers-by: 

 

            in the end you choose between

            the movement and the details.

​

 

Theresa Rogers 

Published in English Bay Review, Issue 1, 2020