A Smokey Slowdrag

By Melvin E. Brown

just don't forget

the loving motion of romance

& be sure to give all that's due

to the strength at the essence

of that good sweet style

past funky grinding thighs

beyond any nasty nigger slow dance

because back then

it was in the holding

it was in the holding

your hand on the small of her back

& Smokey was background

for her magic bodycup leaning

& she was fine as fine could ever be

finer than shade & lemonade

she was so very fine

& you held her fragile bodysigh

against the warm gust of wind

deep in your chest & Smokey sang:

"I did you wrong

My heart went out to play

But in the game I lost you

What a price to pay"

& all the while

it was in the holding

it was in the holding

back then

it was in the way you held

her sweet precious lovely face

& full wet eyes

& it was in the way you held

those sad teargems

that fell

deep

into your young heart

& just don't forget . . .

*   *   *   *   *

Melvin E. Brown was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. A graduate of the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars, Brown received his M.A. in 1977 to 1981. He was the editor of Chicory Magazine, a publication of the Enoch Pratt Free Library. he has also been a faculty member at Sojourner Douglass College. His first volume of poetry In the First Place was published in 1974. Most recently, his poetry appeared in In Search of Color Everywhere: A Collection of African American Poetry.

Blue Notes & Blessing Songs
 (Liberation House,1995)

Reviews

Melvin follows the tradition: griot, storyteller, musician. His poems are straight, clear thinking. In the words of Etheridge Knight, he too "sees through stone." Celebrate this new good book.

--Lucille Clifton, Pulitzer Prize Nominee, author of The Book of Light

Ooh, baby, baby--Melvin E. Brown, at times, writes the way Smokey Robinson once sang. Brown's latest volume is a book of remembrances. It's a collection of poems "coated" with the blues and filled with a special kind of love.

--E. Ethelbert Miller, Director, African American Resource Center, Howard University

It ain't just poetry to me. I hear the codes for honest living, the quest to become a better human being. I hear the love of friendship and memory, and the love of memorable friendships. I feel the caring, the hurting, the loving, the healing, the hoping. It's the heart-to-heart that's really got a hold on me. Unh, unh, it ain't just poetry to me.

--Peter J. Harris, author of Hand Me My Griot Clothes: The Autobiography of Junior Baby