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i dedicate these words to my beloved friend, michelle clifford

oh where, oh where 

has my little scribe gone?

i am reading the coast reporter 

outside in my next-to-nothings

oh to have a wee yard 

& how sweet this heat 

(not so in the burning places)

i have fast effective relief for heat

a cold compress on my lap

frozen water bottle down my top

water drips 

down my left thigh

it’s bin’ years since i wrote a blog

(sounds like i’m in the confessional)

perhaps i am, thinking about all 

the news that’s fit to print

how now to write one’s truth these days? 

i hear jackson browne

“oh i’ve been out walkin’ 

i don’t do that much talkin’ 

these days”

the sow bugs laced my four foot sunflower 

with iridescent sap, the chocolate mint 

& the kale, i even found one sleeping

in a strawberry covered with dog hair

the little vermin march down my hall 

single file. i whisper “please don’t nest in my library” 

which is in boxes downstairs 

i hear the sound of the sun 

strike a strand of spider web 

& the calendula warrior flowers stretch 

into the nether regions 

cedars flutter in the coastal breeze 

my plants are almost as forgiving as the dog 

i can neglect them a bit & they keep pushing on

though not as fiercely as the army of weeds 

on dog walk this morn, 

i watched gaia’s shadow 

& mine in sync 

on the concrete

oh & did i tell you? 

yesterday i was driving to the sechelt mall to perform 

and asked myself “myself i says, who will i see today?”

me thinks MJ, then Grace 

well sure enuf, i only recognised only two folks that day 

first MJ & secondly Grace 

it happened the next day too 

i thought of someone & they appeared

well that’s about it for now folks

may you have the same good luck 

these halcyon days

thank you. thank you 

for the all, the every everything

trust your elf & the love that flows 

through the universe 

let the wind & wishing stars 

carry you where they will

hopefully, cya soon

the happiest cat around

                                                                july 25th, 2022 

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· Vancouver, BC

Tomorrow (Tuesday) on QueerFM Vancouver 101.9FM

With Barb megamouthmedia Snelgrove off on a cabin retreat, DJ Denise sits down for interviews with two talented #queer creatives!

Our second guest highlight:

Cat Mac Music & Writing (Catherine Mcneil) she/her is the author of ‘Under the Influence’ published by Bedazzled Ink in September 2016 which won the Milieu Collective’s emerging writers national contest.

She’s a vibrant singer-songwriter with gutsy lyrics and a multi-instrumentalist. Her first cd is entitled ‘have a little heart,’ her second ‘the me in we.’

She has been widely published in literary magazines and anthologies throughout Canada, the United States and England for 30 years.

Her current manuscript ‘Emily & Elspeth’ is looking for a publisher. She resides between Vancouver, BC and a women’s RV resort in Apache Junction, Arizona with her dog Gaia and her cat Lavender. Learn more about Cat and her music and writing at catmacmusic.com

Tune in TUESDAY, October 5th (repeats October 8th) at 8am PST/4pm GMT to QueerFm Van with your hosts DJ Denise and Barb megamouthmedia Snelgrovefeaturing plenty of queer culture, events, news and tunes!

Canada’s longest running #2SLGBTQIA+ radio show on CITR 101.9FM & Discorder Magazine or streaming worldwide via the link!  http://bit.ly/QueerFM

#queerfm #queerfmvan #queerfmvancouver #citrradio #queerradio #gaymedia#gayradio #queerpodcasters #ilovegay #vancouverradio #iheartradio #queerartists#queerartistsofinstagram#megamouthmedia#denzin8productions#barbsnelgrove

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BUSHY PARK AT BUSHY PARK

i am on highway three east
on the interior plateau of the similkameen valley
standing in my pj’s locked out of my room in the countryside inn at five am
o where is the sun?
my dyke country band ‘bushy park’ play the 12th annual princeton traditional music festival
last night on jon & rika’s big ol’ porch
geraniums waft, remind me of their stink lining the basement window ledges at mom & dad’s
where i plunked on the keys of the upright grand
folkies with tummies stuffed with chilli
their voices rise in unison
rhythm of feet pound on the porch
“rain in my beer & rain in my grub
hey rain, rain comin’ down
on the cane, on the roofs of the town”
fiddles, bouzoukis, & bodhrans below
& i heard “i heard, i heard the old man say
john kanaka kanaka tura yay”
i think back on the isle of Barra, where grammo wove & rocked & sang
like soph and i yesterday harmonizing to ‘bye bye love’ in the car
as we pulled into hope
next day we plunked our bottoms into the tulameen river
in our sunhats
wind in the willows
silver backs of leaves quiver
sip tea
& chat about this little town that welcomed the dykes who put gender twists on country tunes, the little town that called out for more

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this is America

the rainbird cut the night in two
at four am, Oct. 1rst.
ghost clouds & the night wind
chestnuts conk the concrete like godsong

she’s not held at US Customs for the first time in seven years. she offered the officer her grapes “what do u think i am – a fruit cop?” but the young Latino officer said “you’re a snowbird,” stamped her file, told her to enjoy herself

she bursts down Highway 99 like a Zeppelin, her spirit cries for leaving

“i don’t want to be a suitcase!” skies out to southern hollers to catch some tunes

Rita Wong, preventing mass extinction of the human race, has been released from jail

Greta Thurnberg’s mural in Alberta has been defaced

blue sky in her eye, the sun cuts through trees, signs like dyke access & $100 fine for animal abandonment.

on oct 2, it is 5 am & black out. she prays like a bugger that she doesn’t run out of gas on the highway in the dark outside of Eugene. when she finally reaches the gas station, the attendant says “did you know the back door of your van is open?” she sees that a bunch of her bags have fallen out : her hundred dollar bills, her passport. at that moment, a fella drives up & says, if you’re looking for some bags, there are some out there at the intersection.” she found them stacked neatly at the side of the road, everything intact. this is America

while she retrieved them, her dog Gaia scarfed down her whole bag of teriyaki jerky

her rellies in Reno gleefully use paper plates & cups so they have no dishes to do. this is America. for much of her mother’s life, her mother did not know she had siblings here

they have shut down the recycling program in Phoenix due to expense

& in the dog park, at her new RV resort in Apache Junction, Arizona, her neighbor said he moved here cuz’ he didn’t want to be a minority anymore

in the hottub, she discusses getting dental work in Mexico. a chap said “Mexicans have worked for me for 35 years & if you seen where they put their hands, you would not want them in your mouth.”

putting her bathing suit on is like fighting with an elastic

and she’s lost her name tag

couples boogie by in golf carts, some tie on their flying shoes
cars must go 10 miles per hour, but the golf carts go much faster

her pal Peg dropped her, saying that they are ‘unequally yoked’ & she does not ‘approve of her lifestyle’ (after peg has been a lesbian for 37 years)

people are trying to set her up with older widowed men in the park. she is thinking of saying she is separated

Trilby’s cat Scout was taken by a coyote right in front of her

she writes this outside at 12 pm in Mexico’s stolen territory, pineapple for breaky, jicama for lunch. she sees who built this country, who continues to, right here in this gated community

on TV commercials, girls are holding tools like guns to rip down houses

in another commercial, a girl ducks & covers with her bulletproof backpack, the caption reads “preparing for the active shooter”

driving down Palo Verde road with her BC plates yesterday, a man held a gun out the passenger’s window of his truck at her

this is America

to quote her friend Jen Currin “But that doesn’t mean anything.”