I see a black man singing in the Lexicon Lounge, Proudly. Instead of humming the toon of 'This Little Light of Mine". Under the upper hand of his white master. I see him performing to a crowd of his peers, his people. Instead of standing scared next to them in the slave trade of Mississippi . I see them swaying to the music , blazing from the speaker .Jazz music. Their music. I see pride in the eyes that once hosted sorrow . That what I see.