1 essay
these bodies don’t touch
the way those glass
vessels hang in space
out of reach
in the art museum
in portland
it’s raining outside
the day after
valentine’s day
and as usual
i’m alone
yesterday
i went to the spa
a splurge!
to pay for
ninety minutes
of touch
now i’m here
for dubois in paris
in 1905 his images
and infographics show
black people in a past
we can’t touch
but feel every day
in our bones
on the way
these glass blown
talismans
catch my eye
artifact panel
by william morris
i’d never heard of it
before but still
it makes me
linger
how something
can stay safe
without touch
how breath
hardens into bubble
i should have
known then
this world would end
the signs were
everywhere
i was living
in a bubble
so what’s new
now in a
magnetic field
if a body shimmers
with no one
there to touch
is it really a body
at all?
half-life gleam
these bodies don’t touch
but arrive
in other ways
enclosed and exuding
this tumbled from dreams
washing and washing
my hands
with my mother
right there
we don’t touch—
but then, I’m in jail—
with transparent bars
still made of steel
in this dream
i have Xs
where my breasts
should be
i exist
in an
isolation chamber
cooped up stir crazy
cabin fever
house arrest
lock down
stop using
carceral metaphors
when you don’t know
what the fuck
you’re talking about
in solitary
confinement
the one white student
in my prison class
practiced
transcendental
meditation
for hours
this
earmarked
him as
college
material
when he says
don’t get it twisted
a lot of fags are strong
i say hey! in this space
we don’t use that kind
of language
which language
bubbles up inside
or lives in a bubble
trapped in a closet
which words
can’t we touch
in the secret
garden (closet)
i never touched
the audience
sitting on my bed
i only
remember
disguising and
shedding skin
my language
of desire
who
actually
chooses to live
in a bubble
self-isolation or
self-quarantine
jayy dodd
tells our class
this isn’t the first long
stretch she hasn’t
been touched
me either
a black woman thing
donna summer
turning into a machine
doing the robot
and i feel
love
in her talk
kara keeling shows
us this footage and that part
of arthur jafa’s film
love is the message
the message is death
where the stripper
explains her body
is her work
place another
black woman thing
now
we don’t work
from home
if we’re lucky enough
to have one instead
we live at work
stuck inside
a body
in fuck painting #1
we see the balls
and cock inside
the cunt but no gloves
or fingertips
i saw this
at the pompidou
in paris years ago
but wasn’t allowed
to touch it
the painter
betty tompkins
used a spray gun
to make this flesh
so she didn’t
touch it either
this tumbled from dreams
my skin erupting
into flowers
like ana mendieta
on a postcard
on my fridge
pandemic
social distance
flatten the curve
these words like bodies
were once new
and wearing gloves
to hold an apple
in the grocery store
and keeping the world
at arm’s length
and tiger king
which made me
feel so dirty
and freaked out
and never ending
streaming
moe! moe!
there’s a pain
in my chest
and i can’t tell is it
a lump in my breast?
what should i do?
we face time
can you look at it
right here zoom
in closer right here
squeeze
and pinch
the swelling
the weight
of my breast
in my hand
send a picture
he says without
touching it
is this the curve
to be flattened
not the virus but THIS
will this be
how i DIE?
RAGE
at the talk
of a new epidemic
what about the epidemic
of rape the epidemic
of opioids the epidemic
of hunger of black people
being killed
by the cops
and the birds now so
loud like buzz saws
a cross between
church bells and alarms
full throated singing
of what was drowned
out before
release
non-violent
offenders
reduce carbon
emissions
de facto
enact
the new
green deal
everything
impossible
now
happening
instantly
SO THIS IS WHAT
you motherfuckers can do
when you decide
something actually
MATTERS
ghoul me mask me
take away my breath
take away my art spaces
take away my walks
take away my bougie
black privilege
double down on my exile
take away my yoga class
my only chance for touch
remove any gentle correction
dennie says
gabrielle
you’re not taking
this seriously
thousands of
people are going
to DIE
and i feel like
an asshole
caring about
my art body
my schedule
my mental health
and i feel ashamed
and punished
for my lonesome life
then she says
I’m so proud of
mike dewine
for what he’s done
here in ohio—
and i know
something must be
wrong with my ears
because my dennie
ardent protestor
with her
BLACK LIVES MATTER
sign held high
would NEVER say
such a thing and i say
I WILL
NEVER BE PROUD OF
MIKE FUCKING DEWINE
FOR WHAT HE HAS
DONE IN OHIO
in this bubble
of time after
relentless siege
before uprising
i will never forget
tamir rice
shot dead
at twelve years old
in a cleveland park
john crawford iii
shot dead
in a beaver creek
walmart
the cops who did this
were never touched
and neither was ronald ritchie
who called 9-1-1
on john crawford iii
who was just
a black man in walmart
on the phone
with a toy gun for his son
in his hand
when our protest
letters arrived
on his steps
attorney general
mike dewine
refused to touch them
and the week before
cops shot john crawford iii
my student leo
went to that walmart
to make a public
performance
for my class
in an aisle
of that walmart
leo got down
on his knees
and
prayed
when
the walmart worker
came to see
if leo was okay
when
the walmart manager
came to take him away
they never touched
him either
what does it take
to be untouchable
or to be touched?
what could it mean
to burst the bubble?
tehching hseih
and linda montano
lived for a whole year
tied together by a rope
and the whole time
they never touched
did they love each other
were they even friends
without touch
what other kinds
of proximity
can emerge?
this tumbled from dreams
memories of fucking
over and over
to janet jackson’s
“i get so lonely”
living single
independent
grown ass
woman
untethered
shut in
shut out
shut up
you may not
see the tether
loose or taut
but believe me
it’s still there
in her talk
lisa nakamura
discusses
a virtual reality
game for people
to know what it’s like
to be a black woman
wow
how touching
the game designers
market this as a way
to gain empathy
contact free
clearly this game
is not for me
because i already embody
the sensation
on the sorority
prayer call our voices
overlap each week
in a din we’re supposed
to stay silent
but every time we arrive
when we get on the line
we still say our names
and i think this is
the prayer
keeping
in touch
vibrating
shimmering
resolute radiation
black aliveness
ready
to feel
Note: “these bodies don't touch" is used by permission from the déjà vu by Gabrielle Civil, forthcoming from Coffee House Press 2022.
Gabrielle Civil is a black feminist performance artist, poet, and writer, originally from Detroit, MI. She has premiered fifty performance works and her performance memoirs include Swallow the Fish (2017), Experiments in Joy (2019), and ( ghost gestures ) (2021), winner of the Gold Line Nonfiction Chapbook contest. A 2019 Rema Hort Mann LA Emerging Artist, she teaches at the California Institute of the Arts. The aim of her work is to open up space.