Number 184 Winter 2020 • $11.95 COVID-19 AND COMMUNITYIssue 185 / Spring 2021 QUEERING THE DIET Submission Deadline: January 21, 2021 www.rfdmag.org/upload For this issue we’re asking you to explore the ways our diets, food cultivation and how we are able to access food resources shapes our lives. We know that many faced with the shifts in how our societies operate after Coronavirus that access to food became a challenge while also allowing us to become creative about the food we prepared. So we’d like folks to consider any of the follow- ing: diet pathways—omnivores, macrobiotics, vegetarian, vegan, organic, localvores. How have any of these diet decisions shaped your life, shifted your perspective or gave you new ideas for eating. We’re also looking at and asking ourselves as LGBTQI people how we help shape these conver- sations, how are we queering the diet of others. Bring the wild, the different back into the kitchens by the choices we make to produce, purchase and life within a dietary ideal. So for example do you work growing organic veggies, do you shop at a food cooperative, are leading cooking classes for others, foraging for wild edibles or merely bringing some fantastic item to the party. We want to make this issue engaging by com- ing at this issue from a variety of perspectives so we’re asking our readers to consider how our diets, like other parts of our lives are deeply per- sonal. So we’re more interesting in sharing gifts about our experience rather than the politics of decision. So rather share a recipe for making oat milk over telling us how bad cow’s milk is. We’re also really interested in how we as queer people are helping shape an approach to food which is healthy, cross cultural lines in terms of cui- sines, and how are we asking others to engage in how we come to a common table to share a meal. So tell us about your experiences in shifting how you eat, where you get your food or how you grow your food, who you have come across in your food journey and what recipes, tips or ideas do you have to share to help fellow readers in shaping a healthy queer diet. For many of us we’re looking at ways to eat healthier for ourselves while some of us are also asking questions about our food, how it is produced and what is does in creating community rather than profit for some producer, food store or restaurant. So please look into all the ways that you engage with food and let us know about things you’ve learned, meals you have enjoyed and ways that make your life more interesting because of food. Lastly, tell us about a great meal you shared and how you had a lovely evening. RFD 184 Winter 2020 3 Respect Fixed Distance Vol 47 No 2 #184 Winter 2020 Between the Lines As we enter the winter months, we’re all acclimating to the reality of Covid-19 and it’s impact on our bodies, on our mental state after months of social distancing and seeing the impacts of the virus on our friends, family and the larger global community. We share with you now responses to the coronavirus from a varied number of people in our diverse community. As a collective, we are so thriled to reflect a wide number of communities and regions in our pages especially as we communally respond as a queer community to this pandemic. We look forward to you enjoying the issue – reading other people’s perspectives, sharing ideas and showing how the last few months under duress has drawn us together. We also want to honor those who are not reflected on our pages and encourage the quiet to raise their voices, RFD exists for it’s readers to share their thoughts and ideas. As the winter comes global health experts predict soaring case rates of Covid-19 infections and deaths, we in our small way hope the vac- cines prove effective, that the LGBTQ community finds creative ways to educate and protect ourselves. As RFD is nearing forty-seven years in print, we’re proud in our role in shaping the gay community and we hope you, our readers will take the time when you get a chance to look at some of our back issues online—rfdmag.org/back-issues.php. We want to appreciate everyone who has helped produce and shape RFD’s legacy—collective members, authors and artists as well as the various ideas that came directly from our readers in shaping upcoming issues. Please consider adding your voice to RFD’s pages, send us theme ideas, and please share RFD with your friends. If possible we also greatly appreciate your donations but understand we’re in uncertain times, but often even a small gift makes a difference. At this time of reaching inward and seeing the quiet hours, we hope everyone is safe and finding ways to celebrate the holidays and shift in the seasons. Solistice greetings from a socially distanced but still tightknit RFD production team here in New England! “What do you mean Zoom doesn’t have a margarita function?” —The RFD Collective 4 RFD 184 Winter 2020 RFD is a reader-written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative life- styles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, Radical Faerie consciousness, and nature-centered spirituality, and share experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volun- teers. We welcome your participation. The business and general production are coordinated by a collective. Features and entire issues are prepared by different groups in various places. RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 a year by RFD Press, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302. Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302. Non-profit tax exempt #62-1723644, a function of RFD Press with office of registration at 231 Ten Penny Rd., Woodbury, TN 37190. RFD Cover Price: $11.95. A regular subscription is the least expensive way to receive it four times a year. First class mailed issues will be forwarded. Others will not. Send address changes to submissions@rfdmag.org or to our Hadley, MA address. Copyright © RFD Press. The records required by Title 18 U.S.D. Section 2257 and as- sociated with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 85 N Main St, Ste 200, White River Junction, VT 05001. On the Covers Front: “2020 // E A R T H” by Chris Moody Back: “Together” by Victor adeniran Production Managing Editor: Bambi Gauthier Production Editor: Matt Bucy Submission Deadlines Spring—Jan 21, 2021 Summer—April 21, 2021 See inside covers for themes and specifics. For advertising, subscriptions, back issues and other information visit www.rfdmag.org. To read online visit www.issuu.com/rfmag . Visual Contributors in this Issue Images or pieces not directly associated with an article. Chris Moody. .................Front Cover, 26, 53 Dragon (Arthur Durkee). .........6, 17, 22, 23, 59 Richard Vyse. .............................12, 57 Kwai Lam. ......................2, 21, 41, 51, 62 ~WAVE .....................................31 Eric Lanuit ...............................32, 33 Dudgrick Bevins .............................38 Victor adeniran. ..............Back Cover, 55, 60 Leo Herrera ...................Inside Back Cover Photo by Kwai Lam. “Well-filled hot pants, Salt Spring Pride.” RFD 184 Winter 2020 5 CONTENTS On Having To Fly Back Early ...............Steven Finch ..........................4 Phantom Man ............................Andre Le Mont Wilson .................5 Forest Bathing ...........................Al Cole ...............................7 Yes ......................................Liz Gold ..............................8 Dance ...................................Story Stag ............................9 Hora Sfakion .............................Luna ................................10 The Covid Connection ....................Sandra Brown-Bass ...................14 Summer 2020 ............................Leslie Such ..........................15 Surviving and Thriving Again ..............Hammer .............................16 it is hard .................................Franklin Abbott ......................18 Nude Beach Bubble .......................Wes Hartley .........................19 Catalyst .................................Al Cole ..............................20 Realism and Larry Kramer .................Dragon (Arthur Durkee) ..............22 Spike ....................................Andre Le Mont Wilson ................24 Your Arms ...............................Andre Le Mont Wilson ................25 On the Doorstep of Summer ..............Jack Berning .........................27 This Garden .............................Don Perryman .......................28 Cheesman Park—Denver, CO ..............Jack Berning .........................29 M4M: still, you’re with me all the time ......Josh Dixon ...........................30 Poetry Reviews: Antiss and DancingBare ....Leopard .............................34 COVID-19 Social Distance ................Robert Fleming .......................37 Poetry, Public Art, and the Myth of Productivity ...................luke kurtis ...........................38 Grey Shadows In Between .................Qweaver .............................40 Dancing with the Virus ....................Mata Hari ...........................42 How to Cope During COVID-19 ...........Steven Finch .........................45 The Dinner Party .........................Mel Compo ..........................46 COVID & Me ............................Notre Dame des Arbres ...............48 We Were ................................Flaming Salamander ..................50 The Antidote to Civilization ...............Sionainn .............................52 Avatars ..................................Story Stag ...........................54 Illusive Satan .............................James McColley Eilers .................56 Blushing Vinegar and What to Do with It! ...JN.exe ...............................58 On the Path: Adrian Brooks ...............Lee Mentley .........................616 RFD 184 Winter 2020 On Having To Fly Back Early March 18, 2020 on Gran Canaria. The morning sun’s shining brightly again so I open the french doors so a couple rays can caress my face. There’s practically nobody anywhere. There’s only this invisible presence of invasive coronavirus everywhere. And then, facing me, I notice there’s a new white hibiscus flower. Another thing of beauty. And then it makes me think of a white flag, that internationally recognized protective sign of truce or ceasefire and request for negotiation. Unacknowledged now. Riding the wind, a butterfly flits by as if it were waving good-bye. — Steven Finch RFD 184 Winter 2020 7 I planned to wear my “Kiss me, I’m 6.25% Irish” shirt on St Patrick’s Day, but the executive direc- tor closed our Oakland day program for adults with disabilities on March 16, 2020, because of the pandemic. Now, my shirt remained unworn in my closet while I remained at home, navigating the un- familiar world thrust upon me—and billions. I had worked as a backup personal care atten- dant for twenty-five years. I changed the diapers and clothes of men who couldn’t change them themselves. In the absence of lifting and supporting men from their wheelchair to the toilet or changing table and back, five days a week, my body expe- rienced shock. I had adapted my body to support another man’s body to such an extent that I felt lost without him, like the hindquarters of a centaur separated from its man half. I wobbled on two hooves. A severed horse torso searched for its man half but couldn’t find him. Memories of his weight lingered in my flanks. He existed only as a phantom limb, a phantom man. If man and horse were united again, the virus could kill us. I had engaged in work I couldn’t do remotely. Social distancing and six feet were in- compatible with a job that required close, physical contact with the bodies of others. I watched with trepidation as first dozens, then hundreds, and then thousands of attendants and nurses in nursing homes, group homes, and hospitals contracted the virus and died. I wondered if I would receive personal protective equipment when I returned to work, or if I would be forced to wear a trash bag. I returned to work on April Fool’s Day. The building was empty of the sounds of wheelchairs, walkers, and their occupants. A skeleton crew of masked staff either taught Zoom classes or disinfected surfaces. I received two face shields and began calling, emailing, mailing, and Zooming participants who hadn’t attended the program since the shutdown. Looking more like astronauts in masks, shields, gloves, and gowns, staff trained how to feed, trans- port, and hygiene people with disabilities once they returned to the program. But when the infection rate skyrocketed in Alameda County, we aban- doned plans for in-person learning and launched a full curriculum of Zoom classes. The executive director asked if I wanted to teach storytelling. I used to perform stories before par- ticipants behind the building after lunch. But in the year before the pandemic, attendants needed my help in the restroom after every lunch. All storytell- ing ceased. I told my director I would think about it over the weekend. On Monday, I told her yes. During the shutdown, I had attended several literary events and workshops on Zoom, so I was familiar with the virtual meeting technology. However, I was so accustomed to working behind the scene, wiping behinds, that I felt odd working in front of a camera. I used to change men; now the pandemic changed me. My first Zoom storytelling classes consisted of videos of my storytelling performances and come- dians with disabilities, followed by class discussion. However, my support staff, attendants who had only worked as attendants, so botched the sharing of videos that I took over as host and began to read stories from text or storyboards and decreased the use of videos. “Why are you still wearing that?” a participant asked from his box on the screen. His eyes mo- tioned to the mask and shield on my face. I said, “I wear them not because of you, but because of the support staff around me.” For the next class, I placed a portable dry-erase board behind me, not only to block views of the classroom, but to prevent staff from walking up and breathing near me, even if they were wearing masks. Now, I removed my ghost’s bedsheet— shield and mask—and unleashed the full arsenal of facial expressions and gestures during storytelling. The participants laughed from their screen boxes, like the Brady Bunch in their tic-tac-toe boxes at the beginning of their seventies show. After six weeks, I received a report. My story- telling class had the highest average attendance of any class we offered on Wednesday. I filled my office with storytelling books and ordered another on virtual storytelling. I intend to revamp my les- son plan to make my class more interactive. I’m not in a rush to reattach to my man half as his essential servant after the pandemic. I have a lot of stories to tell. Phantom Man by Andre Le Mont Wilson8 RFD 184 Winter 2020 “Embrace (series)” by Dragon (Arthur Durkee). RFD 184 Winter 2020 9 Where does this overwhelming calm come from? The smell of Petrichor – the blood of the Gods - and the honeysuckle, oh God, the honeysuckle: You just have to touch my cup. The dappled light mosaiced on the ground, telling parables through pictures. I see that the trees haven’t forgotten how to dance as I have. The birds and cicadas screaming for sex over the rustle of the dry leaves when the chipmunk passes by. The invisible underground kingdom of fungus or the spi- ders’ webs, dew-covered, revealed only by the morn- ing light: a sibling in every foot, behind and before. The blackberries, fat juicy treats for human and animal, alike and the velvet softness of the baby needles on the old blue spruce. Which of these singular wonders brings me the most peace? I briefly harbor dreams of commodifying it – if only so my sojourns can be made more efficient. The knowledge that all flourish in ignorance of the troubles of the human world, perhaps. *** I stand, soaking in this natural bathtub until my sinuses cry out for mercy – my internal mucus moat rushing to protect me from the world that bore me. —Al Cole Forest BathingNext >