{"id":3157,"date":"2024-09-24T17:42:55","date_gmt":"2024-09-24T21:42:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/2026June\/?page_id=3157"},"modified":"2024-09-24T17:42:55","modified_gmt":"2024-09-24T21:42:55","slug":"issue-17-poetry-george","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/2627\/issue-17-poetry-george\/","title":{"rendered":"Come Home"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>by Beverly George<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity\" \/>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cCome back South,\u201d my mother said on the phone,<br>\u201cTo your people.\u201d<br>They are my people.<br>Like rivers moving through continents<br>They are my heritage,<br>My inheritance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She tugged on the line<br>They are my very own, as seed<br>Belongs in rich black soil,<br>To them<br>I belong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Because I was born in the North,<br>Didn\u2019t taste grits or chitlins until halfway grown,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<br>Sheltered in suburbs before launching in life<br>To Ivy Leagues, raised three children<br>And got two master\u2019s degrees<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But no farther up the crystal stair did I dare,<br>Stymied by life\u2019s maze of ideals while<br>Slapped with the sight<br>Of strange fruit hanging from innocent trees<br>Burdened by timeless tears unretrieved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Claimed by neither region when Mother invited me home<br>I\u2019d been so long singing in my place in the North<br>Thoughts shrouded in sequestered dreams<br>But the South drew me like a magnet<br>To unexplored ancestry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Proper English found Gullah Geechee dialect<br>Black-eyed peas and rice, St. Louis Blues and New Orleans<br>Jazz danced with uncles and aunts<br>Sharing centuries\u2019<br>Suffering in a glance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Sometimes I miss MoMA and Central Park<br>But ushered in from hushed snows<br>Circlinginthedark<br>To the South where my people<br>Endured the harsh past<br>And embraced my heart<br>When I came home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity\" \/>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Beverly George is an aspiring poet who retired in 2020 after teaching music for 22 years in Sumter, S.C. Her poems can be found in the\u00a0SC Bards Anthology issues 2023 and 2024 and she was mentioned in the\u00a0<a href=\"http:\/\/poetry.com\/\">Poetry.com<\/a>\u00a0July 2023 contest as runner up. \u00a0Her chapbook,\u00a0<em>First Light<\/em>\u00a0was published in 2022 and her new book is forthcoming in 2025. \u00a0Her family lives in MN and NY.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>by Beverly George \u201cCome back South,\u201d my mother said on the phone,\u201cTo your people.\u201dThey are my people.Like rivers moving through continentsThey are my heritage,My inheritance. She tugged on the lineThey are my very own, as seedBelongs in rich black soil,To themI belong. Because I was born in the North,Didn\u2019t taste grits or chitlins until halfway grown,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sheltered in suburbs before launching in lifeTo Ivy Leagues, raised three childrenAnd got two master\u2019s degrees But no farther up the crystal stair did I dare,Stymied by life\u2019s maze of ideals whileSlapped with the sightOf strange fruit hanging from innocent treesBurdened by timeless tears unretrieved. Claimed by neither region when Mother invited me homeI\u2019d been so long singing in my place in the NorthThoughts shrouded in sequestered dreamsBut the South drew me like a magnetTo unexplored ancestry. Proper English found Gullah Geechee dialectBlack-eyed peas and rice, St. Louis Blues and New OrleansJazz danced with uncles and auntsSharing centuries\u2019Suffering in a glance. Sometimes I miss MoMA and Central ParkBut ushered in from hushed snowsCirclinginthedarkTo the South where my peopleEndured the harsh pastAnd embraced my heartWhen I came home. Beverly George is an aspiring poet who retired in 2020 after teaching music for 22 years in Sumter, S.C. Her poems can be found in the\u00a0SC Bards Anthology issues 2023 and 2024 and she was mentioned in the\u00a0Poetry.com\u00a0July 2023 contest as runner up. \u00a0Her chapbook,\u00a0First Light\u00a0was published in 2022 and her new book is forthcoming in 2025. \u00a0Her family lives in MN and NY.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3157","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t<!-- All in One SEO 4.9.9 - aioseo.com -->\n\t<meta name=\"description\" content=\"by Beverly George \u201cCome back South,\u201d my mother said on the phone,\u201cTo your people.\u201dThey are my people.Like rivers moving through continentsThey are my heritage,My inheritance. 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