The Orange Room Review

Accessible poetry of substance

East Hampton, New York

by Laura Ramos

Our feet Braille the wooden floor of Pollock's studio
Tracing arterial wisps of pigment.

In surgical shoe covers, we tread along the veins,
Our eyes fixed on the wood's barest skin.

Here he laid his canvas, its weave baptized by drips.
I want to lie down on the wood and run my fingers

Over the vasculature of color, like a child making a snow angel,
My arms gliding over painted dust.

LAURA RAMOS is a medical writer and poet living north of Chicago.