This is a satirical muse on freelance movement of people of color pertaining to dance and rhythms.
Home is Where You Dance
Where is home? Is it where the heart is? Is it a figment of imagery, even? I’ve always said that home is not a place, but a state of mind. It’s a psychological precept that has designs on how we look at what is familiar and what is habitual. If need be, we can attribute other variant vestiges of home being associated with timing and place. Yes, indeed it CAN be good to be home, where we always dance to different beats, and drum out an existence for familial order and fortitude. Drums have always been prominent in our ancestral legacy for it stood for all that mattered in call and response, and even communication. When drumming starts, it signals many things and many connotations. When I hear drums in any song, I immediately come alive and I’m tapping my feet and finding common ground for syncopated rhyme and reason. I marvel at dancers and those who can move in timing sequence and render their bodies slaves to the music. We Black folk are special, for we can dance to oblivion and be obvious to a blessed nature where dance is definitive and daunting. My dichotomy for dance is non-existent, where genetic genealogy should prevail…but given the frenetic nature of chaos that permeate our society, I dare not attempt to do any type of choreographed jig lest I’m safely tucked at home with only three people to satisfy. – me, myself, and I.
We are built for dance…built to do it and with verve! Slim of waist, well-round buttocks, spindly legs, a curving lower back, and armed with historic content that would attest to prowess and preserved privilege, we dance our dance and dare those that are less endowed to emulate our talent. Oh, they try, but cannot duplicate what we have donated to the world. We practically invented dance, have produced the best dancers, and have been known to dance to please others. Home? It’s in my eyes as I look upon you with lust and longing, hoping that you continue to dance before me, for me and with only me in mind. I want to possess you, and wish fervently that you would engross me in your euphoric rapture. Take me in your arms and dare your dance to be mine. Oh you dancing beauty, your hips are most rhythmatic and your rhyme is much more than reason. You ARE because you have come home. The dance floor will never be the same without you!
Alvin C. Romer 4/25/06