"Southern Pride"
I was born in New York in
’92,
But I grew up in the
Lowcountry
Where the threat of
hurricanes
And the march of Sherman
Loom over the yellow
marshes
And green swamps of a
backwood
So deep, the fires still
burn.
Hanging onto that feather
In my cap with a
childlike
Wonder, I swam in the
spit
Of those spewing Damn
Yankee
Waging war with the past
And present, yelling Nigger
On the playground
Where they said Black
People
Should still be enslaved.
Then I stood accused
Of re-inciting a Civil
War
Among the precious children
Of their southern baptist,
Private school—a church—
Where there were no
Blacks
And no god to defend
their pride.
Carolina swore she’d hang
me
From the flagpole by my
underwear
Blowing in the wind with
Old Glory
Alongside the standard of
ol’ dixie.
Earned my diploma where
the mascot
Wasn’t a bulldog or an
eagle, but a rebel
In a service dress
outfitted for war.
An immigrant of my own
country,
An alien despite my white
skin,
I wish retribution for my
Brothers,
Hoping Sherman would
march again;
But this culture can’t be
burned away
Nor its remnants washed
aside.
Still I cannot ignore the
calls
Of waterfowl and river
eddies
Blowing in the storm of a
change
I bring to Miss Georgia
and Miss Caroline.
The land whispers my name
and one day
The people might remember
their shame.
by Montanna Wilber
