Singing Seamstress Of Lenox Avenue

Singing Seamstress Of Lenox Avenue
© Surazeus
2016 01 27

I work all day in the brick factory,
sewing fancy shirts with buttons and frills.
My back is aching and my fingers sore
as I lean over the sewing machine.

I work twelve hours for two dollars a day
to feed my mama who is sick in bed.
I peek at the cracked window smudged with dirt
and dream of dancing in a field of flowers.

When I leave work after the sun is gone
I go trudging down Lenox Avenue.
I hear hearts of the people beating wild
as they strut the streets on hot Harlem nights.

I stand by the door of the Cotton Club
and listen to the wail of the saxophone.
I sway my hips when Duke Ellington plays,
and sing along with Billie Holiday.

I feel my soul soaring high among clouds
when the angel in the light sings my sorrow.
I work all day in the brick factory,
but I want to sing at the Cotton Club.

I strut the streets on sizzling Harlem nights
and stand on the street under a bright light.
I sing the aching sorrows of my heart
and people toss gold pennies at my feet.

I lean over the cold sewing machine
and dream of standing on the gold-lit stage.
I want to sing the sorrows of my heart
and become that angel in the gold spotlight.

The green-eyed boss in a well-tailored suit
whacks my knuckles and shouts, get back to work.
Stop daydreaming, you stupid lazy girl,
we need five hundred shirts to fill the stores.

My brown eyes are blurred by tears of despair
that I am a seamstress stuck here in hell.
I spark a bolt of lightning in my heart
then walk away from the sewing machine.

I step outside the freezing factory
and blink in the sunlight I rarely see.
I walk Lenox Avenue terrified
like a flower blooming after winter snow.

I stand at the door of the Cotton Club
and stare at my face in the shining glass.
I am no angel with my dark brown face
but I can sing like an angel from the stars.

I push through light and stand on the dark stage
where an old wise man grins and plays piano.
I sing the sorrows of my aching heart
before a silent club of empty chairs.

Cars chug past slow on Lenox Avenue
in sunlight gleaming with careless disdain.
I was a seamstress but I quit my job
since I want to sing at the Cotton Club.

The blue-eyed boss in a well-tailored suit
gives me lipstick and a pretty red dress.
Come each night at six and sing for two hours,
and I will pay you ten dollars a day.

Wearing lipstick and a pretty red dress,
I stand stiff on stage of the Cotton Club.
I stare at people and they stare at me
waiting for me to sing and set them free.

My hands are sweating and my heart beats wild
and all my sorrows steal my voice away.
I search the darkness for the light of love
and sing the pain that sparks my heart alive.

Sweet music of the saxophone weaves wings
and I sing in the field where flowers bloom.
I sing about my mama sick in bed
and how my father worked till he dropped dead.

I open my eyes and look in their eyes
and see all the sorrows and joys we share.
No matter how much pain we have to bear
we are together on this spinning globe.

I glide on the melody of despair
till the joy of singing flushes my heart.
I fly on the melody of true love
that beams wide from the aching of my heart.

I finish my song at the Cotton Club
a lonely angel in the gold spotlight.
The people clap and cheer, and beam back love,
so I bow, flush with joy, and disappear.

I step outside the glowing Cotton Club
and strut the streets on sizzling Harlem nights.
I hear hearts of the people beating wild
as I sit in the park where stars shine bright.

I was a seamstress but I quit my job
and now I sing spells at the Cotton Club.
I swallow all your sorrows with my heart
and sing till joy makes our eyes glow with love.