WHEN THE 33’s SPIN – Music, Race & a Little Girl – Pt. 1

 Its Black History Month in the UK and the other day I remembered what I used to do as a little girl child, subconsciously, to retain a sense of self as a child of colour. This poem came out, the memories came out and it was hard to stop…
Eleven and home alone
with the turntable
and the shiny liquorice  platter
playing a set
for memories to be made
treasures and cuckoo stories
of broken hearts, of lost things found,
of courage liberated
the triumphant fist of blues
the spectrum of emotion played  in those grooves
onyx plates of Soul Food
Bobby Womack’s gravel molasses tones
riffs stretching notes  beyond the elasticity of time
Funkadelic dooloops scoop me on my roller skates:
ripped carpets, broken door handles 
Let’s Get It On – big peoples music, it felt new
Marvin understood the expanse of a night for lovers hue 

and why did Anne watch and listen to the rain 
if it made her feel so blue?
I would come to understand, as woman, later
but I know something in my new soul moved
as they crooned…
Written By Zena Edwards©

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