Becoming many-celled
from whitish to pale tan,
consuming the soft crystal
of my confiscated skin,
the alien searched me.
Like a probe sent into the outer
hemispheres of my consciousness.
I searched
back.
I wondered into
its yucca-sized eyes,
and the room became calm,
a cream-colored scent of smoke
rising as the holy spirit does for Baptists
on Sunday mornings when they really need it.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.