hard wooden floors
under the soles of their tap shoes,
our bare feet matching
their clicks scuffing the shining floor.
they lead with their grasps firm,
their voices so silky soft and sweet
it puts birds to shame.
lights dim and music quiet
the record spinning under a needle
like they do us,
their velvet words masking the tunes
but we know the steps well.
we know the twirls
the dips and spins
the smooth jazz that pours
between their lips like honey
smiles sugar sweet
so we don't focus on their feet.
we thought we knew the music changes,
the chords and strokes of the
pianos or thumps of jazz, and we did
but they led and we followed
their minds laying out the steps
before our feet could comprehend.
the dance we thought we knew
they created,
always three steps
two spins
and one bow ahead.
YOU ARE READING
The Mind of a Black Girl
Poetry"The black girl who will embody you all through my small voice that will soon become powerful." ~~~ i have a lot to say and it's on these pages.
