This will be my final woodblock.
Bleary colors squeezed
from the operating room,
flung desperately in odd angles.
One last still life, frantically
rendered in caked fluorescent light.
Frail ballpoint lines and
razor pocks,
aseptic and mint—
all I can preserve,
lying on my back,
working as quickly as I can.
Eyes buckling,
scraping the periphery,
while thick splashes clot
in unfinished edges.
Until sound becomes vibration,
and liquid trickles through
the cave of my arm.
Numbers roll backwards as my
breath eases into silken slants.
Everything plays above me
shadowless and mythical.
When you wheel me away,
I want to become ultraviolet.
Make me more than color—
an invisible salve
puddled all along
the wells of this carving.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 4.
Ayrton Lopez is a poet of Mexican and Ecuadorian descent, who lives and works in San Francisco. He formerly hosted The Red Wheelbarrow, a spoken word poetry program on KZSU 90.1 FM. His poems have appeared in Tupelo Quarterly, Rogue Agent, Rust + Moth, and the Spoon River Poetry Review.
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