Ever in Progress by CLS Sandoval

 

Ever In Progress

CLS Sandoval

On My Way

 

On my way to school this morning,

reciting that poem for the 30^th time,

I wonder why no one will let me merge.

My phone keeps teasing me with texts and emails,

but I’m trying my best not to give in.

My dog, Sadie’s eyes haunt my mind;

I hate leaving her by herself, behind.

All of those interruptions

in that debate last night leave me wondering

if there is any hope left for change we can believe in.

It’s almost my exit; good thing I have time to grab some coffee.

 

Waiting for Something to Happen

 

I have my ringer on.  We’ve been on the waiting list to adopt a baby for more than two years now.  We had a match, but the mother changed her mind.  I had some time off that I was saving for when we brought home a baby, but time was up to use it, so now I took a year off and just wrote.  Took classes.  Volunteering in our six-year old’s first grade class.  Working part time at other jobs to pay down debt.  Not a wasted year.  But the something I wanted to happen just hasn’t yet.  It’s been a week of action. The dog threw up all night, my car was still in the shop, and the gas bill was triple that which I expected.  As I keep waiting for something to happen, I guess I need to be more specific as to what I am hoping for!

 

 

 I’ve Always Been Good at the Beginning of Things

 

Just a touch, practice

Everything turns out just right

Later, it’s too hard

 

Things I don’t Like to Admit About Myself

 

My hair has more gray than I would like it to be.  My waist is thicker than I ever thought it would be.  I’ve lost a bit of strength and flexibility.  I don’t have the focus and self-control I would like.  I am not as kind and patient as I hope to be.  I’m not as consistent as I want to be.  I don’t make enough money or have enough children.  I don’t own a home and I have too much debt.  I have more sunspots and wrinkles than I want.  My hair is not as long or thick as I want.  I keep wishing and I need to take more action.

 

My Heart

 

He was pretty

That always got me

He could talk a good game

My heart feel so fast

It was the second time she’d betrayed me

Fallen for a slick, fast-talking, handsome guy

With lots of game

And plenty more options

It wouldn’t be the last time

 

Don’t Think Like This

 

Don’t think like this

He’s the man of your dreams and you’re off in your own fantasies

Don’t think like this

He gave you his all and you’re up to your own little schemes

Don’t think like this

From so far away the grass will always look green

 

I Used the Wrong Key Again, But it Was the Right Door

 

I once knew this lock

The key was under the mat

This time it won’t turn

 

Just Another Day

 

Another bomb dropped today

I can tell you when and where

And I can swear that I care

But I’ve never been there

And I’m still brushing my hair

My hands are connected at the wrist behind my back and I’ll never let this one go

There’s just one more tear falling to the floor and my head is crammed full of a rainbow

I let go too soon again

There is one less reason to wake up

One more reason to sleep in

Another dead

One more dying

And they want me to teach a speech class

To students that assume the sun will rise another day

Whose greatest worry is whether or not there are any Eggos left in the freezer

Then he walks in with his red hair and grin

He emancipated himself from a foster system

that drops children like bombs on sands of empty parents

who view their young people as just another pay check

My Rhythm

 

He wouldn’t want to 

dance again after this time

I’m stepping on him

 

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

 

Respond

 

The pastor says the best way to respond to hate is love,

And the best way to respond to fear is with faith.

I know I have this juxtaposition deep within me, too,

But I get bogged down in the hate and the fear.

 

Regrets

 

It’s hard for me to believe anyone is being truthful when they say they have no regrets

I cannot believe people who only wish they had done more

I regret so much

If I could I would have stopped myself from so many things I did on impulse

I would have studied harder

Worked more

Taken less play time

So I could be where I really want to be

So I could be the person I wish people knew me to be

 

My Ideal Day

 

Award

My baby born

Family time all day long

Massages and lots of hot tubs

Perfect

 

Talking to 10 Year Old Me

 

If 10 year old me saw me now
She would wonder why we gave up so much
How we ended up here
And why we haven’t made much of a difference
But then she might be impressed at all the roads we took that she never imagined existed

I would gently break the news that she only has

Two years before Mom and Dad split up
Only a little longer before mom’s drinking took over
A few more years before she would be sexually assaulted
Not long after great grandpa, and great grandma would die
Not long after that, our own alcoholism, depression, anxiety would take over
Mom would survive cancer twice
Nana with die
She would lose touch with her sister and best friends
She would have a failed marriage
Be detached
Have a guarded heart

But be stronger for all of it

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.

 

Black Birds and Stolen Trucks by Marvinlouis Dorsey

 

Black Birds

and

Stolen Trucks

 

a

Bobby John Press

 

Poetic Libretto

 

Marvinlouis

 

Hello

good-

bye

 

let us try

 

to let go

of what

 

is thought a-

bout who

i am

 

be-

cause

no-

one

 

can see

the million

 

bro-

ken

pieces

 

of

this

thing

 

called

me

 

Was day-

drea-

ming of

some-

place else

the nerve of

a simple hu-

man being

 

the

ring-

ing in

my ears

has contin-

ued to cause

havoc in my

silence

 

i’m

trying to

get still

 

no one

came not

to feel up hill

battles often

draw out more

than just

blood

tears

 

how many

years be-

fore

you

stop

caring

 

such a daring

thought

to

see so a-

lone

 

why is it

that grown

men can’t cry

how can one be

forced to live so

strong

 

all a-

long

i’ve been

my own

man

 

now

here he

stands

 

catch-

ing

 

his

breath

Gray

hairs rites

of pas-

sages

 

a black

man try-

ing to

grow

old

 

how could

it be called bold

for a person to

live life

 

whose weather

vein doesn’t blow

around in circles

whose lucky enough

to look back at a

path well worn

 

another

chance do it

all over again

 

who would

be

so fucking

crazy

 

please don’t

let it be me

 

Black

birds gat-

hered in flight

in mid-

storm what’s

the normal thing

to do to-

day

when

there’s no

limits

when

any-

thing is

pos-

sible

 

the sky

was meant

to never look

the same

twice

 

i

blame

me

 

for

my

lack

 

of vis-

ion

Big rig

tires no-

longer on

fire white

smoke dis-

sipates

 

the ground waits

for burnt red flakes

wings carried

ashes

 

turkey vultures

eat any-

thing like

wed-

ding ringed

fingers from

dead big rig driver

wicked was the last

smile on his dis-

torted face

 

bad

time

 

un-

avoidable

place

 

too

much

 

tech knowledge

too

easy too

hard not

to

 

so quickly

taking pictures

 

as if the men-

tal image

didn’t hurt

enough

 

a sto-

len truck

a looky loo

 

i’m still in

shock cun-

fused

 

how hard

it is i know

how loud

 

a man can

scream

 

while com-

pletely

engulfed

 

in

flames

Re-

flection

in win-

dow mirror

blue

sky moun-

tain hori-

zon

 

don’t be

afraid turn

away from

the look in your

own eyes it’s the

things closest to you

that go un-

noticed

 

ho-

ning

this thing

called liv-

ing giving more

than my-

self

 

what could

leave no-

thing

 

i’m giving

you all that

i am

Floa-

ting a-

bove my

head some-

one’s dy-

ing hea-

ven

 

when I

was e-

leven remem-

ber a grave

site late

one night

a friend blee-

ding i’m still grie-

ving his young death

 

some-

one is wri-

ting a song

hold on may-

be its me

 

lost in rhyme

rhythm melody

come sing with

me said the voice

blowing across high

desert Sunday mor-

ning sky

 

i

find

me here

 

still

looking