I. Lay that paper down, Girl.
Tonight you need free arms,
and that tee-Ease of a hip sway.
You Celebrate Us. Proclaim our We.
Ass plant on our family tree.
Smiles trickle and course on out
hands are pushed together in rhythmic shout
A young woman, a young poet
sheds her chrysalis of doubt.
Embraces her song.
II. Damn! you were percolatin'
in perfect syncopation'
and fine articulation
The room was ablaze in
we roared at
III. Suited fine, with bandana-ed dreads
The Eloquent Elephant filled the air
with truths, that only Bed-Stuy can forge
and a humble wise man utter.
Oh yes, I, too know, have been carved up
by that blindness in the Cit-eh.
But in lyric affirmation of its human
You make war, you speak love, and
You slam me, free.
Constance Stadler © 2009