John Pixley

THE BODY HERE YOU SEE

a poem cycle
performance piece

V.O.

My doctor's hands.

[Lights up very bright. White. Clinical.]

READER I & II

My doctor's hands are even colder
than the table on which I lie,
stripped and exposed in my underpants.
The table is narrow;
I'm lost on my back,
and my body twitches in fear -
in fear of falling
down to the hard, brightly lit, linoleum floor.
The paper crinkles
and tears.

My doctor's hands are firm
as they try to take hold
And control my limbs and spasms.
They tickle me as they poke
at my stomach, legs, feet;
once again, I regress
into baby reflexes.
My doctor's hands are huge
as they check in my underwear,
where I'm soft, warm, vital.

My doctor's hands are gentle
as he helps me up.
He strokes my back...

[Beat.]

My doctor's hands
are powerless.

[Fade to black.]

Hands on.

V.O

Hands on.

[Lights up. IMAGE 2: Hands]

READER I & II

I have learned
to understand
the language of hands -
big, strong hands.

These hands touch me,
they handle me,
all over my body.
No part can be left alone.

These hands are strange.
They are not mine.
They are hired. They are necessary.

[ATTENDANT puts down READER I's overall bib, returns to seat.]

These hands tell me
of loneliness and holding in,
of desires to care,
to be needed.

These hands have stories -
deep, wanting stories -
most of which
I never hear told.

I feel the hands on me -
big, strong hands -
gentle and tender,
satisfied and true.

[Black out.]

V.O

Job orientation.

[Lights up.]

READER I & II

Here,
there is no barrier -
only me.

Yes,
you have to touch me
there –

wash me,
clean me,
handle me.

[ATTENDANT removes READER I's t-shirt, returns to seat.]

And I don't know you,
and you don't know me,
and I know it is weird.

But it is not weird.
There is no weirdness here.
It is reality.

This is what I need.
This is what you have to do.
This is what has to happen.

[ATTENDANT puts up READER I's overall bib, returns to seat.]

But I still can't believe
I'm asking you
to do this -

[Black out.]

John Pixley is a columnist, playwright and sometime performer living with a disability and two cats and a parakeet in Claremont, CA.