Before this poem, there was Harlem in Havana—a traveling world where Black and Cuban performers turned segregation-era America into rhythm, glamour, and refusal.

Created by showman Leon Claxton, this wasn’t background entertainment. It was presence in motion—jazz, Latin rhythm, comedy, dance, and burlesque energy moving through tents, fairgrounds, and Midway lights like every stop was its own stage kingdom.

At the center of it all was the Brown-skinned showgirl.

Not borrowed. Not secondary. But lead force—sequins, timing, humor, command. She stood inside a burlesque history that often forgets her, yet she was already shaping its language: tease, glamour, control, authorship.

The Brown-skinned showgirl didn’t ask to be seen. She decided how she would be seen.

That energy lives in this poem.

They were never just part of the show. They were the show.

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BROWN SKIN SHOWGIRLS

Sequins catch the light
feathers brush the air
Brown Skin Showgirls, alive and
untamed everywhere.

Fans spinning
hips swaying
every step a story,
Every glance a tease,
every shimmer is glory.

From Harlem streets,
where jazz first called,
To Havana nights,
where Latin rhythm enthralled.

Chorus lines in perfect step,
Beautiful and bold,

They redefined the gaze,
their power untold.

They teased
they sparkled
they lit up the stage
In front of white crowds just a tent away
from Gypsy Rose Lee and Sally Rand’s parade.

They took old stereotypes
and made them new,
exotic, fierce, bold, and true.

From the carnival’s glow
At the end of the Midway,
The showgirls rose up,
dazzling every day.

On Harlem in Havana,
they rose to fame,
and the Brown Skin Showgirls
carved out their name.

Every shimmy a rebellion,
every sway a claim,
They moved with power,
owning the game.

Brown Skin Showgirls
will forever reign.

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