The Black Body Auditions for a Play

It sees the poster on a bulletin board at school:

Open casting call for black bodies, a role 

for which it is perfect. It has been asked 

for a song and dance, and so the black body 

prepares one. On the big day the black body 

finds a line outside the door and a waiting room

filled with other black bodies, which it should 

have expected. A black body goes where it’s known 

to go. It does what it’s known to do. The competition

is stiff. It always is. This role creates a riff in the pool 

of black bodies even as it appears unchanged each year

from the first showing, and remains a play no one forgets.   

The black body waits, all of them want this, it sits 

until its number is called. All eyes evaluate its display.

The black body becomes wet, small crystal beads 

gleam as they roll down its head and under its shirt.

At its core there is a churning set at an uncomfortable 

interval that distracts it, does a cold dance inside of it 

before the judges start the music. It takes its cue. 

The black body begins, claps thigh against shaky thigh 

in a cool rhythm from side to side. It snaps its fingers. 

It keeps itself on time. It lifts its voice and sings until 

it finds itself at the finish, arrived, in. There’s a white line 

at the end of every race. Once you cross, you win.