CLS Sandoval

Smoke and Mirrors

 

There’s what I want you to see: my piercings, my black clothes, my wedding ring, my sunglasses, my pink car, my boots – but there’s also what I don’t want you to see – my torn cuticles and short nails, my blemishes, the hair on my arms, the gray on the crown of my head, the softness under my chin, the wobble under my arms, the slight curve of my belly

I want you to know my accomplishments, the three generations of women who came before me who have now passed I want you to meet my husband, my sister, my son, my daughter, my dog. I want you to know how cool all my pets were—the ones who died: the rats, the hamsters, the bunnies, the cats, the fish, the dogs. I want you to see the photos of my idyllic childhood, read the poetry of my teenage-hood to know all I’ve overcome – to see my vices, publications, artwork, but really all that matters is how I treat you

 

The Dance

 

When I reach forward, I feel pulled back

A step forward begins in reverse

I light fire to boil ice in the deep freeze

My ink is erased and my pencil led permanent

Sliding into splits leaves me upright

A summersault feels like a layout

My car’s reverse gear puts her in drive

Everything I touch turns into the opposite of my intention

They Can, But

 

They can, but

They can tell me no, but I can challenge them.

They can tell me what to wear on the outside, but they can’t change my heart’s decor

They can stop me from having more children, but they can’t take my daughter.

They can, but

They can shut the door, but I can shimmy out the window.

They can take my car, but I still have legs.

They can tell their interpretation, but they can’t take my experience.

They can, but

They can unplug my computer, but I still have a ball point and a steno pad.

They can turn of the electricity, but they can’t keep me

They can shut my mouth, but not my mind.