Black Body Amnesia after Rehearsal

Dear Jaamil,

I bought Black Body Amnesia at Skylight after whirlwind trips. It was wrapped in plastic like

my grandmother’s couch. A week later, I took Jamiah there and they bought it too. SIMILARLY

SACRED. I’ve been reading your book on the bus on the way back from rehearsal. I always mean

to take the bus both ways, then always run late and call a car to get there and pay too much money,

but once rehearsal is OVER and there’s SO MUCH MORE TIME, I take my HAM HOCKS

right to the bus stop as my mother would say—a forgotten way to say BODY—and I wait for the bus

to come. Then I’m rolling back from Venice to Los Feliz with mostly BLACK AND BROWN

PEOPLE OF COLOR, many in states of amnesia themselves or REMEMBERING SOME-

THING BETTER than what people say may have happened. Yesterday, I was deep in your page

when a pale white woman sat down next to me, her back to my side, and her long hair kept

brushing against my arm. Was it blond? Was it me? Strange sensation. Not wanting it but not

rejecting it either, remembering: this is what it is to be in the world. My body starting and stopping.

Doors opening and closing in proximity. The next stop is … ALREADY MERGING. I’m like

Damn, Jaamil! Is that you? This hair on my arms, your poems and speech acts. IS THAT YOU

PRICKLING ME? Your images, now your voice in my head. GO DEEPER. MORE SHINY.

PRESS & GLEAM. The show is tomorrow. And then the next one and the next. What jumps

within and between BLACK BODY ARTISTS? It can look and feel all kinds of ways.

Thank you for reminding me. Thank you for your artistry. I feel blessed to receive its touch.

xo Gabrielle Civil