CLS Sandoval, PhD (she/her) is a pushcart nominated writer and communication professor with accolades in film, academia, and creative writing who speaks, signs, acts, publishes, sings, performs, writes, paints, teaches and rarely relaxes.  She’s presented at communication conferences, served as a poetry and flash editor, published 15 academic articles, two academic books, three full-length literary collections, three chapbooks, and both flash and poetry pieces in literary journals, recently including Opiate Magazine, The Journal of Radical Wonder, and A Moon of One’s Own.  She is raising her daughter, son, and dog with her husband in Walnut, CA.

https://www.facebook.com/crystallaneswift/

Mosquito Bites

The sweltering humidity gives way to
raindrops on a hot Louisiana day. My
skin is beyond quenched, perhaps a bit
waterlogged between my sweat and the
drops. The water provides not enough
shield against the bugs that land and suck
my blood. It only takes a fraction of an
hour for my arms and legs to be covered
with lumps and an incessant itch that I
mindlessly scratch until I am bleeding
and oozing pus. I long for the days of my youth
in San Diego where the only mosquitoes in
the county were deep in the woods of the hills
of Ramona and Julian. I always thought being
sweet was a compliment until mosquitoes
perceived my blood as dessert.

stories in the lines of my skin

veins
so near the surface
the blue is vibrant near the wrists

in the pockets of my elbows
the blue lines have sunk deeper
as the layers have grown thicker

scars up and down the forearm
illustrate my attempts at letting out
what but didn’t seem to fit

my chickenpox scar is still
in the same place
under my bellybutton

but my belly protrudes in a way
that makes it feel I’m wearing
the suit of someone else’s front

I can’t lift my eyebrow
without spreading webs of lines
across my forehead

there’s a perfect 16 year-old me
with a flat stomach
ribs apparent
perfect thigh gap
inside of this outer padding

she’s limber
full of energy
and has light hopeful breath

my heaviness is not just my weight
but everything I carry
as this body expands
and takes on more than my share

my clothes don’t fit
my reflection doesn’t fit
my aches and pains don’t fit

something has gone awry
with the stories of the lines in my skin

The Fly

Don’t ignore the fly; don’t become obsessed with it. Irving Howe wrote in his introduction to Jewish American Stories that the best art almost becomes sentimental but doesn’t. Recognize the fly, even love it if you want, but don’t marry it. –Natalie Goldberg

I’m obsessed with the fly
Forget the rain
The clouds outside
The comings and goings of the happy couples
Best friends
Co-workers in the coffee shop
Ignore the coffee-caramel-cinnamon scent in the air
The classical music wafting around the chatter at each little table
The feel and taste of hot comfort in the cup of each coffee-drinker
The mismatched chairs and tables and other decor
All I see is the fly
He’s looking right at me
I’m sheltering the foam on my cappuccino
I can’t believe I ordered a cappuccino
I almost always order a black drip
Or at least an Americano
The fly looks like he’s wringing his hands
Or are those paws
Or legs
Or
His eyes are laser focused on me
Or my coffee
I’m not sure which
I’m obsessed with him
Can’t take my eyes off him
Obsessed, like married to him obsessed
I think he’s obsessed with me, too

two day journey

adoption was always my plan A
husband had always dreamed
of making a baby

our compromise
embryo adoption

day of the transfer
I watched the catheter
carefully place
tiny human embryo
inside of my uterus

he wasn’t much to see
but I knew he would grow
and expand
and be so much more

results of my blood test
two days later
proved my body had let him go

my little baby embryo
had been placed inside me
just to find his death
when all I wanted
was to give him life

Warmed Inside and Out

Before 30
I was too much waif to donate blood
my circulation was a little slow
I was a little anemic

So when fall was swept away by winter
the chill penetrated to my bones
if I sat down too hard
I could feel my pelvis rattle

Twisting in my seat made my femurs ache
my elbows would stiffen
and the left would remind me
that it had once been broken

The only way to warm enough
to be out of pain was to make tea—
Lapsang Souchong, Constant Comment, or Lemon Lift
and get into a scalding bath
until the hot water
inside and out
had warmed my blood
and eased the aching in my bones

Now, after 40
I am warm enough in winter
with just a sweatshirt

My body radiates enough
to soothe the chill
my children get from a nippy breeze

Even so, I keep a few boxes of tea
and slip into a warm bath
to soothe my soul
rather than my once freezing bones