Does God Allow Tush?

20 07 2007

1:02 am. It’s been a long night of shaking my ass. 6 hours is a long time to gyrate and grind in 5 inch stilettos. Once my Ducati gym shoes replaced the red, patent leather platforms, my insides felt drained. Coming down to earth ain’t easy after strutting so high!

Honestly I felt more like I just got off of a boat tonight than when I got off the sail boat yesterday. The earth seemed to be still rocking under my heels. So I stumble like a drunk as I get out of my car and struggle to say good evening to the ladies chatting on the porch.

‘So you made it another round?’ says Geraldine. Her voice is raspy. She leans forward on big boned fore arms as solid as my legs.

‘Yes mam, thank God. I wish that I could just stay home and paint and not need to go in but I ain’t tapped into the money online like that yet, ‘ I add.

I’m surprised of that, seems like you always working and runnin’, said Geraldine.

‘ What do you paint? What’s your website?’

Now I didn’t recognize the third lady who was sitting on my porch visiting with my neighbors asking me questions so close to midnight. But I did recognize the question as trouble.

Trouble because I’m not a good liar. I’m not interested in learning how to lie. I like storytelling for entertainment but that’s different.

The sensible voice in my head closed her eyes and urged me (for my own good) to keep my response simple.

‘ I paint people.’

I said it with an edge of curiosity on purpose not intentionally. What I mean to say is that I really didn’t want any trouble but then who is she to me? After all she hadn’t even given me her name and she was on my porch!

It would be polite to introduce oneself before asking a bunch of questions even on the west side of Chicago.

It just so happened that I was wearing one of my pink t shirts that I had ironed on 3×3 copies of my paintings for last years Around the Coyote Arts Festival.

I leaned forward to show Geraldine.

Geraldine laughed a throaty laugh that matched her raspy voice, ‘ ahhhhhhh, she showing her tush!’

Geraldine threw her head back.

Uuugh, I don’t wear tush, said the unknown visitor.

‘Don’t worry my ladies have religion,’ I chirped.

‘ Not my Religion, NOT My Religion, she repeated herself firmly.

We don’t show our tush… her voice trailed off into the breeze.

Well they are good girls and I don’t make them up, I said.

I can’t say why I bothered with that woman. I couldn’t care less what she thinks. Our little waltz on the porch reminded me of the play The Color Purple which I saw this pass Sunday evening.

The house at the Cadillac Theater was full of Black women. It had to be about 90% well dressed Black women. Young Black women accompanied their Mothers, Aunts, Grandmothers and Daughters to the play.

The musical numbers were poems of love for the unwaivering family commitment that Black women have endured over the decades.

The play wrapped a ribbon of hope around the journey of the African American woman. It put to music and dance our climb to victory. Victory meaning learning to accept ourselves, love ourselves and value ourselves regardless of circumstance. The VICTORY was that we continued to Care.

Every type of Black woman was represented in the play. Celie and Shug kiss. Sofia big boned- don’t take any lip off of anybody. Shug well, she’s like me, a juk joint gal. Only I can’t sing. I paint and write…  there is  even 3 busy bodies always nosing around

I’ve read other reviews online. One critic complained that the play moved too fast and that they didn’t have enough time to get to know the characters. That’s a bunch of horse shit.

Or, maybe I didn’t need to get to know the characters because I already own a piece of most of them. For me it was just a pleasure to see characters like myself on the big stage and singing.

Somehow I felt understood to have such a play so well attended. Go see The Color Purple ladies!

God Bless, Sleep with the Angels our Faith will get us through

Thanks for Reading

Mika loves You!



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