IRENE WHITCOMB

Executive Editor

 

Born on the Subic Bay Naval Base when it wasn't a relic of its former self and coming to America when she was three months old, Irene grew up in the shadow of affluence on the mean--no, that's not quite right.  Irene grew up in the shadow of affluence on the not particularly congenial, but civil enough to allow you to pass through unsavory neighborhoods relatively unscathed, streets of San Diego, where she spent all of her free time either at the library reading books on all manner of subjects or at various arcades admiring the skill and fine sportsmanship of the local gamers.  She  received her B.A. in English from CSUS and is currently a grad student in their Creative Writing program with a concentration on poetry.  Alongside her position at Calaveras Station, she is also the president of the English Club.  She hopes to teach English in Japan for a short while after receiving her M.A., and then subsequently return to the states to teach creative writing at the college level.

"Washi"

Villagers watched atop the Tulay schoolhouse as
old homes on ramshackle stilts were stolen
out to sea by fugitive mudslides
riding sidesaddle the coattails
of commensurate gales

When the underhanded gypsy tempest passed through, it left
                                                                                                          wet thatching under overturned tables
            rotted planks
                                                                                    nails yanked from holes
                                                                                         and imbued with the blessing of Tetanus
                                    damp sugar sacks like bags of sweet thawing snow
                                         huddled in corners to evade the unhurried creep of spring
rice in the road / river / rents of pelted Macapuno trees
                                                                                                babies
                                                                                                     crying for expired parents


They prayed and cursed the Judas
rain that held them hostage with gunshot
thunder and complicit wind
until an antipodal chill set the typhoon still
stanching the flow
of corpses
and deferring the ephemeral felicity of Christmas
Mass
graves for unclaimed
remains were made in the wake
of a dysentery outbreak

Father Iligtas saved holy water and blessed the bloat

 

Our Links:

E-mail Us:

cslj.csus@gmail.com

We'd love to hear any comments or suggestions you have. Let us know what kind of job we are doing!