for colored girls...

Today I decided to reread my copy of Ntozake Shange's book, for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is not enuf.

I had bought the book while in college back in 1976 when it was all the rage and being read by the feminist Black women of the era. Today, it has been made into a film by Tyler Perry, and a new generation is discovering Shange's work for the first time.

I haven't seen the movie, and don't know if I will. I can't decide if I want to watch a movie of a book that I thought was so well-written and moving. Although there is a fine cast of actors in the film, I wonder if it won't lose something for me hearing the words, and seeing the motions, instead of reading the magic of the poetry and coming to my own conclusions on its imagery.

Sometimes I think that consumption of the written word has become a lost art form to younger generations. It's an age of immediate gratification and with reading, you have to wait. The reward is not immediate, nor is it always obvious.

So, I will continue to hunt for my aged, worn, yellowed copy of colored girls. While everyone else is spending time at the movie theater, I will read my book, in the comfort of my overstuffed arm chair, my dog at my feet, enjoying a glass of my favorite wine, savoring every image, of every word, of every page, until the end.