The Dancer

I dance. Dancing is what I do. Dancing drug my pain I dance because next to Jesus, Dancing is my second lover I dance before the crossroads of the world I dance in front the statue of Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. I dance at the State Office Building in Harlem, USA. When I dance, white men pause and ask Can they wrap their arms around me? And as we dance, a brother walks up And demand to know why I let a white man hold me. I say to him, "Do you want to hold me?" "Do you want to love me like this white man is?" The brother turns and walks away. While he walked, the white man wrapped me closer, And hold me in his body, and told me, "This is where you belong, secured." *