by sharon bridgforth

slim figurman
handed a stranger a card what read
figure's flavors. the world's finest.
come gets a taste.
slim like to press them hand writ cards
to folk coming through for the first time.
he be all dressed lik a fancyman
talking so many circles/till don't nobody know what the hell
he talking about.
the new to it/always stand for it
nodd here and there
throw in a word when slim take a breath.
probably is all slim really want after all
somebody to listen
talk for a bit.

anyway

we all know
slim call heself running a ho house
but slim ain't running nothing or nobody.
so the place he call figure's flavors/we calls it betty's.
yessuh/cause slim's sister betty be the one running that jernt.
and what it is is the best blues inn in the country.
first off betty know how to keep a clean room
so the stop overs always be happy/feel rested and cared for
but more important/betty can cook so gotdamngood it make you want to kick your own ass. i trying to watch
see if betty been throwed some powders off in them pots/make
the cooking so much excitement for the tastes.

anyway

chile/blues peoples from states away hauls over to betty's just to be up in there get a taste. don't even charge betty for they musicianships/course na some of them tasting more than good cooking from betty/look like her favorites
be extra fed. but they all of them gets meals and a room/long as they willing to work a set or two.

and do the jernt be packed!
mens womens some that is both some that is neither/be rolling all up and between the sounds/dancing in them rent rooms/and laying up all in betty's home cooking.

anyway

it was a cool night after a hot day.
the peoples was in they finest/fresh pressed and set for whatever betty's was about to bring. it was rib night
the start of the week-end. folk was still eyes bright hearts light pockets packed full of laughter/and on the ready.
that night
was a wo'mn named big bill
what rose up out of betty's room.
big bill had on the finest suit i have seen to this day.
come in with she suit black/hat low/glasses dark/and shoes so shinning make your head hurt. big bill walk through
crowd part/as she make way to the piano in the corner of the room.
big bill long legs reach strong
one leg powerful in front the other/her
unbottoned jacket open close open close
as she walk
pants pull here
here
here/material ripple
across she crotch
which appear packing a large and heavy surprise i glance over to betty/see she seeing too/smiling down where big bill pants pull and ripple large/and
not so suttle in the crotch. betty fanning sheself/still sweat run all around her face.
but i ain't got time be looking at betty/glance back to
big bill taking she jacket off/take she hat off/slowly roll up one crisp sleeve/then the other/loosen she tie/turn her big broad back to the room/sits down/and ever so slightly nod she nappy head. at that the guitar man pull up take a chair next to she. big bill nodd again even more slight/an a big ole powerful sample of wo'mness stroll center the room. sway step smile sway step smile sway sway she went till she got in place standing center inside a moment of stillness. then suddenly/the three of them hit a note all at the same time/aaaaaaawwwwwwhhhhhh
went the sound and i declare some kind of hunger-spirit swept through the room. took everybody's mind in one swoop.
after that
wasn't nothing but bodies feeding the feeling till sunday sunrise just before first workshift. shiiit. we still rest broken from that series of things. big mama sway/singing

i gots geechee lips
i gots geechee hips
i gots a geechee kiss
that'll you'll never forget
but you got to
show me that you want it
show me that you need/so
if you can't show me that you need it
go on/pack your thangs and go.

chile
   what a time.

still/something about they sound almost stop my heart.
i knew it weren't the hooch
cause wasn't nothing in my cup but that strong ass coffee betty serve/which could been over work my heart/but i don't think so.
betty don't allow no drinking in she jernt.
not since she lost her first love lushy to the gussle.
naw/lushy ain't dead
thats she yonder holding up the middle of the jernt.
betty lost lushy from she bed when she kicked that drunk ass out one final time. been upset about that ever since. mostly at herself/say she got so caught up loving what lushy could have been/she wouldn't see what lushy really was.

anyway

lushy don't drink no more/betty don't like the smell of the drink/reminding her of the hard times/so we all forced stay in our right minds when we come to betty's. which is a relief really
because usually with the drinking come the looking and the looking bring the knives/cause folk can't just look at they own peoples they gots to always cast a looking at somebody's somebody else/and the knives bring the cussing and the cussing bring the swoll chest and the swoll chest
always...
...interrupt the good time.

but the good time don't never get stopped at betty's no more
so i been happy as a fat cat in a rat shack.
except i sitting with the clear mind
wishing i could recall
where

         i knowed big bill from.

[Sharon Bridgforth believes that her "work is dedicated to telling African-American wy'mn's stories/honoring Indigenous people/dealing with issues specific to Ancestors, elders, and homosexuals-based on the idea of the transmigration of Souls/using circular storytelling and non-linear verse to chronicle Life." Bridgforth is the Lambda Literary Award-winning author of the bull-jean stories, performance stories published by Redbone Press. Check out her website at www.angelfire.com/ny4/sharonbridgforth/.]