You Think You Know but You Have No Idea

A poem by Guinevere Borja

You think you know, but you have no idea
that shores which were once a vibrant mix of beige and aqua,
are now contaminated by empty cans of alcohol, dismembered cigarettes
and every other type of debris that was left behind from parties past.

You think you know, but you have no idea that an island,
now pulsing with traffic, was once a quiet getaway
and peaceful home to loving people whose top priority was “family.”

You think you know, but you have no idea that the huge structure entitled
Best Sunshine, also known as the “Devil’s Palace,”
due to the harsh red lights and despair it brought among families,
was once just a choice on a voting ballot.

You think you know, but you have no idea that before corporate greed
and the lust for power enveloped Saipan,
the Chamorro culture was vibrant.
Kids weren’t obsessed with brand names and social media follower counts.
Enjoyment was in the eyes of the beholder
rather than determined by the thoughts of onlookers.

You think you know, but you have no idea.

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