READING MY POEMS ‘HALFMOON BAY’ & ‘SNIP IT’ AT THE ‘SNIPPETS FROM A SMALL COASTAL TOWN’ BOOK LAUNCH AT GIBSONS LIBRARY DEC 15, 2025

SNIP IT

on losing my sight

my god! i am just falling fucking apart

i sound like my granny

what is the world coming to?

i will never see it the same again

just as I was questioning the magic

what to my wandering eyes did appear?

i don’t have NAION

i have birdshot

little lesions in my eyes

the sense of five brooding bouncing loud black clouds  

spots splat surrounded by light

in the alarming cloudseeded sky

i spy with my little eye

something that is …

i see very little through my right eye but

there is one hole in the middle of bird splat through which i can see

my optic nerve is swollen

my cataracts sound like things in Egypt

my body is attacking itself

i can not hear through my left ear

i have exostosis

bony growths in my ear canal from swimming in Seymour River as a kid

during wax removal, my ear was damaged

the ear drum went pop   pop   pop

then no thing

the opthamologist says “you need to take prednisone

an immune suppressant”

oh no the one that fattened Flo

i march out of I care clinic on my high horse

“i don’t take drugs” i say

“look it up” he says

if i don’t take the miracle drug

i could go blind

so i take it

and now i shake

electricity coarses through my veins

i can’t sleep   i’m hungry   and moody

the neurologist shoots botox in my skull

for my trigeminal neuralgia & fibromyalgia

i have cancelled my bucket list trip to India

so this is 66

clickety-click!

in bed with a migraine  

been too social again

Esteban’s band is blaring

outside Bungalow Las Hamacas 

belts out “Wish You Were Here”

my sentiment exactly

i go downstairs at five am

to see the sunrise

discover i’m locked in at night 

no one can get in or out

the man asleep in our lobby’s our protection

i break out at eight am   three swimmers 

two front crawl   one breast stroke

by nine   a whole string of swimmers 

back & forth across the bay 

makes me wish i lived here

two fishermen stand at the ocean’s edge

one rolls the line in   the other patiently awaits a nibble 

i turn my back to the sun 

two pigeons & a grackle pick about the sand 

spout a similar song 

picka picka picka picka picka picka picka

& always the ululation of waves 

like an old friend’s greeting

a man limps sits towards me 

when there are all these empty tables

i whisper “damn”

he groans as if sitting down is effortful   it must have been

& now   a woman with a book    smokes  

i see their shadows move behind me 

they have not said anything 

like the act could be sacred 

choosing writing    

to be alone 

and now more hatted Americans 

(or perhaps Canadians) 

laugh down the ramp 

hold fast to railings 

sandals in hand

i can hear their chatter already 

so quick to judge 

he places his hand on her shoulder    

guides her forward 

i think of my mother & father 

how they have changed so suddenly 

they seem to have not responded to their vaccines kindly

they are eighty-seven & eighty-eight

but to have deteriorated that quickly doesn’t make sense

i spoke to dad yesterday

his speech has changed

perhaps you have been on this journey

that of saying goodbye to one’s beloved parents

& the photos of late   dad’s leans on his cane 

looks so like Grammo

here birds call to one another   say “Si” like a Latino 

& I hear little Spanish sentences in my mind 

“Donde vas?”   “Hijole”

yesterday i sat on a bus going from Barra de Navidad

(so many references to Christ’s birth) to Melaque 

a wee Mexican woman sat beside me 

she was sixty-eight   three years older than me 

she looked ten or twenty years older 

these people work so hard 

she told me her grandson was murdered last September 

with her right hand   she indicates his head was chopped off

on my ride to the Manzanillo airport

a garbage dumps gleams white on a hill

Salvatore my taxi driver who works six & a half days a week

says the dead are buried there   on the side

he makes that gesture of a head being chopped off

Melaque is protected by the cartels

“Keep the foreign money coming in”

i hear the cartel helps fund the schools

though i inhale smoke   i keep my thoughts to myself

yesterday we ate breakfast at Las Gaviotas restaurant &

several foreigners complained about the food

i keep my thoughts to myself

we shazam past Huatulco  

here motorcycles drive on the road’s edge

& if a driver is going slowly   

he moves to the side of the road   

lets the fast drivers fly by

pass semi trucks full of coconuts & coconut husks 

fields of red bananas

watermelon

avocado

tomatoes 

i wanna be a normal person eating peanuts

watch a film on the plane

not look out the window for inspiration

like my father   head in the clouds

when the couple moved 

sensing my distaste for smoke

i thought   i no longer want to be alone

i think of all the time you spent rerouting my flight today

from Manzanillo to Dallas 

Los Angelos to Phoenix 

wonder if my city girl might choose the simpler slower life

like so many ex-pats 

& i hear Esteban singing again

“Wish You Were Here”

the garbage dump / burial site

Puerto Valljarta

On the wall ‘security is your business.’

I don’t belong here.
I’m not a criminal.
I bellow somewhere inside.

Hauled into Secondary Inspection.
I already waited in the Manzanillo Airport for six hours today.
I changed my flight to Phoenix through Dallas to Los Angelos.
I am missing my connecting flight.

I have Nexus.
But a storm’s in Texas.

I’ve been flagged for ties & equities.
They believe I want to live in the United States.

Nguyen : This is not the first time you’ve been here right?
Where are you from?

Me : Gibsons Landing, BC.

Nguyen: Where was your passport made?
Me : Vancouver, BC

Nguyen : No it wasn’t.
Me : Then I don’t know where it was made.

Nguyen : It was made in Mississauga, Ontario.
Me: That’s right. I remember when I applied for it, I mailed my application to Mississauga.

Nguyen : Oh so now you’re changing your story.
(I don’t know what to say.)

Nguyen : If you lived in BC, your passport woulda been made there.
I know because I worked in Toronto and all Torontonian passports are made there.

Where are the law enforcers?
When I think about it, I go mad.

I should not be overly caffeinated right now.
They let two people go who have expired passports. The whole room was cleared.

Another flight has landed. The room is filling up with more people to search & detain.
Still they have not called my name. Scream.

Nguyen: Next time you go through US Customs, bring proof of property ownership in Canada. They fingerprint an East Indian woman. An officer says to an Asian woman after he had interrogated her

“Git outa here.” i got outa there.

on election day
i fly Air Canada
i fly with my little eye
something that is
blue & red

it’s American Airlines
with stripes on its’ tail
trust in the truth
tenants take position

rev accelerate fall backwards into your seat
use caution when opening the door
first pull up then pull down

your safety is our top priority
set your devices to airplane mode
it’s a hazard if a device falls

if a device fails follow floor lighting
to the nearest exit
if landing in water reach for your mask

if cabin pressure changes
put your mask over your mouth
then put on the oxygen mask
breathe normally

the smell of gas?
we suggest you say a little prayer for us

due to heavy headwinds & turbulence
fasten seatbelts even when the sign is off &

take off over south mountain
where i hiked yesterday
below those 5G towers

on the edge of land & air
Papago park Garda world operations vehicles
green siren AZ national guard Honeywell skytrains

regular rooftops rectangular parking lots patchwork green fields
dry river beds brown squares silver circles azure pools

lines of transition tiny towns snuggled in valleys
snow capped peaks Lake Mead chem trails

velocity of wings no step hoist point eyes on the horizon
southwest airlines’ blue trucks “every body loves snacks”

tinkle of silverware & premium snacks in first class

perfect time to write trapped on a plane
we feign sane as we let writing in us die
again & again

late last night you stopped the film ‘let go’
to discuss us
& the introduction of our animals
during American thanksgiving
with your Mom & daughter visiting

the plan was to pick us up in two weeks
drive from Gibsons to your home in Phoenix

put my cat in the spare bedroom for three weeks
train your corgi not to attack my shepherd

celebrate your daughter’s eighteenth birthday
host the turkey dinner the next day

with your relatives
& for me to spend xmas there

of course my mother gets wind of that
“you’re coming home for xmas, aren’t you?”

& as she ails
she hails their timely relocation
into assisted living

“just in the nick of time”
just before St. Nick’s arrival

the old folks are failing
they pray to see another spring

while their children try to maintain their freedom
& be thought full

“we’ve missed you so much
we’re always talking about when you’re coming back
we look forward to getting to know Dee better

can she come to Hart House to meet all the rellies on the twenty-first?
can she come for dinner at our new home
everyone loves it
ask Craig & Linda & Jane”

we hover over detail
when everything is new
a new relationship
a new home
a return to my beloved
my dog Gaia greeting me tonite
if i make the 5:30 ferry
i hope Lavonne will videotape us

it is good to come home
it is good to travel
but relocation to another country
perhaps not as brave as my folks yet

“due to heavy winds we are late”
i will have to wait until tomorrow
to greet Gaia wah!

perhaps she is there all along

these nails of mine i do not know

belong to whose body & 

the inability to sleep 

in your backyard how the intel world buzzes 

on what i might suspect a quiet Monday morning

planes blast skyward 

a mesquite tree 

twelve disciples click & call to me 

dove and grackle   my angels   my choir

are xmas decorations   evenly spaced

“are you too hot for me?” i say as i slip my thighs under your hot 

bum   breathe   settle   my tum   your buttons   my buns   

blood rises   brain lights up   i pop on the fan with the remote 

night long’s happy dance 

the fan’s safe click like Nanny Enns’ clock 

on the mantle in her apartment on Spruce

i dream   Apache drums   monster trucks  

Vroom Vroom!   (the crowd goes mad)

& fair bear at the state fair   the ones we were gifted

yesterday   though my aim less than fair   duped no one

in the barn we pat 

wallabies   (wanna be)   home   long lashed camels & llamas

children’s eyes grow large when a zebu 

pokes its nose in to their sides   itching for feed

i pat the long faced pregnant looking sheep   whisper 

“don’t worry   it’s the last day of the fair   it’s almost over”

disabled folk rest on their walkers   a child gloats over his new 

stuffed animal   pats it   i ask his folks if i can take a photo 

his mother says “no”   

kids crunch on candy apples   candy floss

in kettle corn air   smell of funnel cakes

zucchini fingers   jalapeños wrapped in bacon lingers

D & me lick Dole Whip cones drink Chub cafe o lait in cans with lids

made by a man from Puebla   town of Talavera pottery 

i think on how this country has been built on the backs of Latino people

i hide enshadowed under my purple umbrella

dump water down the back of my top

run to the can   

my cell pops from my pocket   slides over concrete 

the photos i longed to share with you 

have lime stripes running through them

it’s three degrees with rivers atmospheric in my hometown Deep Cove

four houses plunge into the sea

i hear our neighbour Mike cart away our recycling

i thank the October sun & Mike

o to the generosity of strangers

ps “avoid that part of the backyard 

at night where the dogs poo poo”

who doesn’t love the fair?

who doesn’t love the fair?