The Glove Compartment

November 15, 2007
By Elisa Leiva, Guilderland, NY

I believe in cluttered desks
and open minds. I believe in
random acts of kindness
and crowded subways.
I believe in quotes that haven't been said,
people that haven't been met.
I believe that not everyone belongs somewhere
not everyone can wrap up
their identity in a tidy
little box. I believe in cities
and nightlife but more importantly
in social justice
and that protests
do bring about change. I believe crying
over spilled milk is useless.
I don't believe in fate
or karma because of the
corrupt white men
swimming in cash,
while the working class
with gnarled hands and broken backs
remain ignored. I believe that memories
and sleeping pills
are the only things that get me through
the night. I believe in the women
who held me tight
when I found out we were moving
again. I believe in the long
string bean country
where I was born
and the state of ten thousand lakes
where I once lived.
I believe that the wrinkles
on my grandmothers face
are tragic stories
that will never be told. I believe
that i will never fully understand
my father or the reason why
he moved us to suburbia
or drives a mini van
and keeps his memories
of being a revolutionary locked up
in the glove compartment.

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