By Jacob Betgeorge
Hecho en Nayarit
He was born in Nayarit.
Near the warmth of the sea,
With only love to inherit,
And a small Bible to read.
He lived in homes of gathered brush and lumber,
With young hands, he sold Chiclets all through the hot summers.
And laid his head on pillows made of sand and prayer.
He grew quick, so clever, and with every passing day, more rarer.
Until one day his hermana Paola leaped from their land,
To love and live with a Northern man.
Letter after letter, check after check, they sent back home,
Giving support to her family who worked hard with their backs and bones.
But to him, they sent a paid ticket.
Charged with a promise,
To earn more than a living profit,
To aid his family; be of greater service.
In his finest linen: he boarded the bus,
Presented his ticket, and rode to all of us,
City after city, job after job, he learned new ways,
And everything he made, he gave away.
Until in the church choir, while singing hymns,
He kissed a woman of beautiful color like him,
Together they loved, they married and lived,
And she filled his life with precious children,
One of them, young but with such great mind,
Conquered the very world—she, mother of mine,
Who told me of my family, her father, and Nayarit.
How he earned everything and never thought to quit.
For within my blood, she said, is more than mere red,
But of all the honor and glory our ancestors ever had.
Jacob Betgeorge is currently enrolled at California State University, Sacramento, where he is pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. He is a scholar, writer, and poet. He envisions a future shaped by the written word, devoted to education and authorship. This is his first publication.
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