12 year olds
Naive
As if the world’s borders ended where Boyle Heights and East LA became
Whatever
Walking around the beige colored-lunch benches
by the student store
salivating at treats
50¢ I didn’t have
Into the bathroom with the metal reflectors
No glass for us
in East LA
My face a tan brown
lips lined with Jordana honey
hair half pulled back into a tight mean bun
I’m looking at You
Our blindingly white collar polo shirts tucked into our rolled up mini uniform plaid skirts
Trying so desperately to be
Somebody
To the chain link fence that surrounded the blacktop PE area
our brown fingers grazed that fence as we walked towards the running field
holding on tightly as potholes broke our gait
And I grabbed on and looked out
Longingly
Outside
And while they hollered a “Heeeey!” in response to the high school and above guys dressed in their Chinos, crisp white t-shirts and Nike Cortez, I
faltered. Not wanting a part of it. No desire to be looked at by shaved heads and face tattoos.
But not knowing how to step back and walk away alone.
12 year olds.
Naive.
As if the world’s borders ended where Boyle Heights and East LA became
Whatever.
Susana Benavidez 