The Best Gift

What has a city in decline bestowed upon me?
Look into my eyes. You will see it:
a hardened pupil, a stony iris.
Two years ago, I migrated south for an education.
I learned much outside the classroom.

From speaking two languages and exploring the social classes,
I saw the world like I never could
before: a cross section of America.
The rich built citadels on the shores so we
could gawk at their material excess.

But I saw that drivel in my hometown, a place
of nature's bounty raped to make more homes.
Then I saw how locals lived:
ordinary people in crumbling houses, always rebuilding after storms
not just homes but their souls.

No amount of money or designer clothes could fill
the void I saw in so many people
masquerading as happy and carefree shells.
Even in class, these people strutted on wobbly legs.
I knew I couldn't be them.

Yet they and the poor gave me what I
needed: a reason to stand and say "Enough!"
I found my motivation to fight.
I can't topple the rich yet I can break the
cycle of apathy, obsession and excess.

In my fight, I learned to speak out loud,
still my wavering voice and command their attention,
no easy task in this venue
where Spanish masks English in many parts of town.
Still, I refused to quit talking.

With speaking up came promotions and a new audience.
Draped in blue, I stand tall and see
the rifts that split my communities.
I cannot ignore them or the tenebrous patches placed
to fix things that require discussion.

I have this voice; I will not waste it
on entertainment. Instead, I will enter the shark pool
and clean the mess left behind.
Who knew a crumbling city could make me stronger?
To Miami, I say thank you.