Jun 2018
Back when I was 16, decked in my white shirt
and blue jeans, my hair plaited back in pixie braids,
I was beginning to learn the rhythm of my hips, how
when they swung in the azure sky, they could create
a harmonizing sound and a jazzy motion. I boogied
to the spinning soundtracks on my boombox in my backyard, strutting and slinging, twisting and turning, bouncing around to the hypnotizing beats of Whitney Houston’s song, I Wanna Dance, my skin shimmering a rainbow glow in the summer sun. I perfected the craft to a satisfying delight, inhaling the formation and rotation, clicking my joints and ticking my hands to the direction of my hips. As vehicles passed by, I could see the captivating charm captured in their faces, how they longed to join in with me, their bodies breaking into a rearranging flow, cracking muscles, arms, and swaying with the towering trees. Got to love those hips, how they could glide around in life and bring a beat in vivid view, how they could birth a little girl into a blossoming beauty.
and blue jeans, my hair plaited back in pixie braids,
I was beginning to learn the rhythm of my hips, how
when they swung in the azure sky, they could create
a harmonizing sound and a jazzy motion. I boogied
to the spinning soundtracks on my boombox in my backyard, strutting and slinging, twisting and turning, bouncing around to the hypnotizing beats of Whitney Houston’s song, I Wanna Dance, my skin shimmering a rainbow glow in the summer sun. I perfected the craft to a satisfying delight, inhaling the formation and rotation, clicking my joints and ticking my hands to the direction of my hips. As vehicles passed by, I could see the captivating charm captured in their faces, how they longed to join in with me, their bodies breaking into a rearranging flow, cracking muscles, arms, and swaying with the towering trees. Got to love those hips, how they could glide around in life and bring a beat in vivid view, how they could birth a little girl into a blossoming beauty.
