I’m not a painter by trade,
arranging a bowl of fruit
for a still life.
My art surges from within.
My body is the conductor,
a channel for energy.

Still, the bowl
on the canvas
seems to shimmer
like the scales of a fish
stunning midair:
For every action,
an opposite reaction.
For every push,
a pull.

When the surgeon cut
the mole from the scalp,
his scalpel
applied a current
to my body’s cells,
like lightning
to my sap.
My cells’ resistance
supplied the heat
for the operation;
my body, a pathway
for the charge flow.

And isn’t this poetry:
tapping into
the body’s power
to electrify?