cat mac

i tie my dog gaia to a concrete bench. she howls
i put her on the balcony facing the lake. she howls

uniformed by-law enforcement officers in black & shades,
walkie-talkies, fine the owners of howlin’ dogs at Cultas Lake
this ain’t my house. i don’t want trouble

i put gaia inside, it’s forty degrees celcius. the moon is the sun
as fires blaze across BC. i close the sliding door
exit the kitchen, take three steps &

BANG

gaia flies through the glass door
families sit in front of the cabin
stare up at my balcony, jaws dangle

i tear into the house. a star-shaped hole
in the door, shards of glass & blood every where

i call gaia. she jumps through the star-shaped hole
bloody-headed, blood pours out of her mouth
part of her muzzle dangles

we are on beach where people i do not know surround me.

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i tie my dog gaia to a concrete bench. she howls
i put her on the balcony facing the lake. she howls

uniformed by-law enforcement officers in black & shades,
walkie-talkies, fine the owners of howlin’ dogs at Cultas Lake
this ain’t my house. i don’t want trouble

i put gaia inside, it’s forty degrees celcius. the moon is the sun
as fires blaze across BC. i close the sliding door
exit the kitchen, take three steps &

BANG

gaia flies through the glass door
families sit in front of the cabin
stare up at my balcony, jaws dangle

i tear into the house. a star-shaped hole
in the door, shards of glass & blood every where

i call gaia. she jumps through the star-shaped hole
bloody-headed, blood pours out of her mouth
part of her muzzle dangles

we are on beach where people i do not know surround me.
i hold her, trembling. a man tells his wife “go get gauze.” an eternity. four men on knees surround me. one woman stands eight feet away. a hundred people gawk

a man with liquor on his breath is telling me what to do. & i recognize craig philbrook, a boy i kissed in the woods fifty years ago. am i that old?

i’m shouting. “can you get a glassman over here!” my body breathing me. holding the trembling

a man wraps gauze around her mouth. we head to the car. she breaks the gauze. gasps for breath. he rewraps, around her neck, and mouth.

i am alone. i want someone to come with me. a boy googles the directions. boys to the rescue when it comes to trauma.

i am driving to the Sardis Vet’s. i wish there were ambulances for animals. traffic is at a stand still.

at the Vedder Bridge. construction. i drive up the wrong
side of the road. someone calls me a fuckin’ bitch. i’m untouchable

“my dog is dying” i shout.

i’m as gaia’d as jannie is lulu’d.

at the vets, a first nations girl with emerald eyes has marvelous jewelry that she found at the ‘Nu-to-Yu’. i tell her she’d be great on tv.

they operate. i hear them sedate her, blood-curdling, like my first cat sedated by the needle that the vet smashed into her back while i was holding her

back at the lake, the glass men are there, sizing, measuring. they have cleaned the living room & balcony. i get down on my knees & pray.

no. i vacuum the glass they missed, for a half hour. “look” says one glass man. “i can lay down in it & nothing happens.” wee shards in my knees.

the blood comes out of the hardwood with water. out of the balcony with Fantastic. out of the towels with cold water.

as i have been writing this, a dog has been barking two houses away.

ps lulu, jannie’s sister, died last month on her and her twin luke’s birthday, which was mine, my twin’s, and our sister’s


st. columba
A- G
st columba has praying sites
F G
for voyages ’t come n’ go
he kneels in silence
reflecting on the ocean
its corners beyond vision
struggle for sky
A- G
lines he must not cross

F E
and stars that have no light
F C F C
chorus: small people welcome st. columba
F C G
who turns their lives into a cross
F C F C
hills exultation, “christ is my druid,
F C G
turn your eye to this new god”

until a clump of rocks
could give him rest
the ocean would recede
to heather ‘neath his head
night lost her moon
he slept until morn
the islands floated near
the coracle shone

chorus: small people welcome st. columba
who turn their lives into a cross
hills exultation, “christ is my druid”
turn your eye to this new god

he sang in thanksgiving
these his first notes
the herring in a dance
around the old fishboat
he’s bathing in the salt
swaddled by ocean
repeats an ancient prayer
A- D
the melancholy unspoken

i am setting my Aunt Flo’s book ‘The Barra Poems’ to music for the Princeton Traditional Music Festival in Princeton next month. i play this on my Great Uncle John’s button accordion.

cat mac’s outstanding!
out standing where?
out standing on the corner of main and hastings

still looking for, as Jamie puts it, bill’s ‘ecstatic yunyun’
like when she saw Al Stewart playing Year of the Cat in a little club on Granville,
later Al ate cold Campbell’ s soup out of the can with a spoon

Germany’s thirty percent wind & solar
Denmark’s one hundred percent wind
Sweden will soon be fossil free

to not break the sky
protect the rain forest
stop Kinder Morgan, Site C Dam
& the TransMountain Pipeline,

our last best hope of earth
The Green Party & NDP replace Christy Clark
(some think it’s up to the Queen now)

less summers ahead of me now than behind
an Air BNB from Zurich sleeps in my living room, on her whirlwind whistle-stop bike tour Vancouver to Whistler, Banff to Port Hardy & all around Vancouver Island

a bad idea, i never slept & the herpes i just
got for the first time last week, came back
how does one get herpes? the doc says it’s everywhere
think i caught in St. Paul’s Hospital last week

a wee woman houses a wee dog in her wee purse on the beach at English Bay
“no dogs on the beach” says the cop on the Clydesdale
who takes a dump larger than the dog itself, trots off

i watch the dog watch the sea
go home, watch the cat watch tv
nibble kibble

Joy Kogawa waits on the corner of Davie &Jervis
a Douglas Fir falls beside the highrise next door
under the supermoon under stars understand

through maples and moonlight without my glasses, i see snowflakes
and delicious looking leaves

in Granview Park, i’ve the grand view of cops chasing a man
at gunpoint. outside Brittania Secondary the gunshot
the sound i see

& my buddy John injected a boy dying of fentanyl
sitting on the toilet
in his shelter with narcon. the boy snapped back

a dog ate pizza full of sewing needles in Strathcona Park
the man beside me in Shoppers asks for viagra
some yahoo kicks the bejesus out of someone
oh, this road map of my face

i press back my cuticles with my thumbnail
spit pink nail polish out of my mouth
tylenol gives me my day back

i try to make myself unremarkable
unruffle my mind
the rumblings of my heart

come morning light
love is like a little bird upon the sea
no great beast slouches

says love

monica byrne

And it has nothing to do with your software. It has to do with your new ad campaign, which I happened to see while I was at the gym last week. Here’s the gist: brilliant young girls express their ambitions to cure cancer and explore outer space and play with the latest in virtual reality tech. Then—gotcha!—they’re shown a statistic that only 6.7% of women graduate with STEM degrees. They look crushed. The tagline? “Change the world. Stay in STEM.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Microsoft, where’s your ad campaign telling adult male scientists not to rape their colleagues in the field? Where’s the campaign telling them not to steal or take credit for women’s work? Or not to seriallysexuallyharasstheirstudents? Not to discriminate against them? Not to ignoredismiss, or fail to promote them at the same rate as men? Not to publish their work at a statistically…

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cat mac

the tool i write on
is the tool i play on
so i can not write
instead, i peek at the book of faces

“not too fast honey,
i’m in the suicide seat”
“i know, i know, i know”

past the town of Chlorine
starved for green
& the Pacific Northwest

past the town of Mercury
& Portland on the 205
your tax dollars at work
inter stating, just saying
Jesus is in Salem

“slow down honey”
i am, i am
behind the semi crawl
‘mcneilus’ on fender skirts
my people, pirates

spray me with travel anxiety
for pets

you take a swig of coffee
yak in Yakima. Yakima “relax”
sing the green fields of Calapooiea

bovine salt & pepper the hills
if we could stop eating beef
requires fifty times the land chicken uses

& my heart grows old
time is brutal
glenda’s bumpin’ her gums back home
eating…

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cat mac

femmes for femmes made history last night in The Cultch.

the coven of witches cast their spell, leaving us with tear-streaked faces and bursting hearts, that feeling of connection that great art inspires.

the amazing jillian christmas thanked the Tseil Watuth, XmMuthkwium & Skxumish Nations for our being guests on their land.

amber dawn take us back to the catholic church of your childhood where you knelt near the stained glass and the sun poured pink light on your hands, on the tour bus with sex workers. our hearts beat as one while you read your delicious moment of love-making in the sorority house. you cast out fear. “this is my body, this is my body.”

leah lakshmi piepzna-samarashinha, burn down the house with your badass tales of loving women and your crip body as it is. sing us another love song about a disabled queer asian woman sex…

View original post 177 more words

the tool i write on
is the tool i play on
so i can not write
instead, i peek at the book of faces

“not too fast honey,
i’m in the suicide seat”
“i know, i know, i know”

past the town of Chlorine
starved for green
& the Pacific Northwest

past the town of Mercury
& Portland on the 205
your tax dollars at work
inter stating, just saying
Jesus is in Salem

“slow down honey”
i am, i am
behind the semi crawl
‘mcneilus’ on fender skirts
my people, pirates

spray me with travel anxiety
for pets

you take a swig of coffee
yak in Yakima. Yakima “relax”
sing the green fields of Calapooiea

bovine salt & pepper the hills
if we could stop eating beef
requires fifty times the land chicken uses

& my heart grows old
time is brutal
glenda’s bumpin’ her gums back home
eating raw chicken out of the freezer
any old rubbish honest to god

her father made her weigh herself every day
his bloodtough roughhouse roots
perverted the men
moldered his family

just yesterday i wondered where shauna was
today i see her on the front of robert pickton’s book
in the book of faces

in Frosh Week at UBC, chants are racist
misogynist this weltschmerz shsh
i am trying to write a happy song
but moths burst from my ears

amble in to the Apple Inn
whatever you like,
come in, come in
said the apple to the girl

*natalie wee
Room / VOL.
39.4 P. 62

femmes for femmes made history last night in The Cultch.

the coven of witches cast their spell, leaving us with tear-streaked faces and bursting hearts, that feeling of connection that great art inspires.

the amazing jillian christmas thanked the Tseil Watuth, XmMuthkwium & Skxumish Nations for our being guests on their land.

amber dawn take us back to the catholic church of your childhood where you knelt near the stained glass and the sun poured pink light on your hands, on the tour bus with sex workers. our hearts beat as one while you read your delicious moment of love-making in the sorority house. you cast out fear. “this is my body, this is my body.”

leah lakshmi piepzna-samarashinha, burn down the house with your badass tales of loving women and your crip body as it is. sing us another love song about a disabled queer asian woman sex worker blessing your long journey of improbable survival. we love you even when you don’t have your lipstick on.

kai cheng thom, muss up your hair, toss it over your shoulders, tell us again how beautiful you and how much you love us “31. you are loved 32. you are loved 33. you are loved. girl boy you are femme femme fabulous singing glory to us sisters, you pour lavender oil over our bodies

kama la mackerel tell us again about the house your father built, how they signed the mortgage papers for the first time in your family history, and your father, with his raw hands, added rooms till you got your own and gardens, how you feel his love in his silence, his love for twenty years in this house called home. tell us again when i told my mother i was trans, she was soft, warm, and she said there have always been man-woman, woman-man.

we felt this place called homeland last night. thank you, genies. thank you for your arsenal, Pulp.

cat mac

mependerporchreadgwriting

good-bye to open sky, cactus in my eye
waves of sage, joshua trees & yucca
streets lined with days-eyes, sunflower-yellow

we are cover girls (not that kind) holy
roller tumble past Hoover Dam
sing spring in. conglomerates. no stops required for
right turns. lanes shift. safety first. do not pass. reduce

speed. past the MGM Grand. signs “trust me you can sing” alcohol.
a margarita equals a fruit a day. beef, booze and brothels.
prison areas. hitchhiking forbidden.

colors daydream, push through cherry-blossom cloud
sink in pink. last night i could not turn myself off. desire pummelled
out of my body. my brain is not up to it. knees to knees. bum to tum. breathe
into backs. loose & relax.

‘words are blows’ mz. queyras writes.
we are afraid to press the tv button on
road-weary. a semi rev’s. butts in. gasp.
steel myself. pahrump. rv’s bruise the horizon.
under…

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