Excerpts from The Chaffey Review
Thomas Cordova/Staff Photographer
Literary journal The Chaffey Review, which features works by current and former Chaffey students and other writers, was unveiled this week. You can get a copy at the Chaffey College bookstore for $5. Here are a few poems pulled from the 154-page review:
Visiting Dachau
by John Kay
Our old terrier plods across
the gravel roll--call field
under a hot summer sun,
when a blonde, teenage girl
approaches, offering a bottle
of spring water--for the dog.
My wife cups her hands,
my son pours the water,
and I struggle to catch what
spills before it touches the
ground--an infraction that brings
an instant beating or death.
* * *
Identity
by Brian McConnell
Running my fingers curiously over a small purple bruise just above the ankle while the television echoes: Reagan Re-elected.
Dancing to Diana Ross high on coke, on life, on lust.
Cramped into a bar on Christopher Street, crying a riotous flood of ruby red tears.
Sitting in a nervous circle in a small house in Silverlake defying the world -- doors locked -- blinds shut -- whispering an explosion: I'm gay too.
Strapped into a chair shocked with volts of discipline every time I "respond" to a passing picture of a beautiful man.
Stitching a pink triangle onto my jacket, repulsed by the clashing colors.
Entertaining the bourgeoisie New Yorkers crazy for a light footed pansy with wit.
Apple martinis and cigarettes -- this bar on the corner of Santa Monica and Robertson -- this Saturday afternoon.
* * *
Breaking Fast
by Eleanor Paynter
At the end of Ramadan, the national TV announced
the winners of an Eid ul-Fitr feast, a family that lived
on the outskirts of Mosul. The family invited friends,
neighbors, all their relatives, to celebrate.
The explosion was loud and killed
all but one, who ran his own bleeding
body into darkness. This is the story
my brother tells me when I ask
why he can't come home, and whether
to call it war.
by Eleanor Paynter
At the end of Ramadan, the national TV announced
the winners of an Eid ul-Fitr feast, a family that lived
on the outskirts of Mosul. The family invited friends,
neighbors, all their relatives, to celebrate.
The explosion was loud and killed
all but one, who ran his own bleeding
body into darkness. This is the story
my brother tells me when I ask
why he can't come home, and whether
to call it war.



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