Mendon Ponds

Life is just beginning to
dawn on most of us.

But that happens here quicker
than most other places. 

Even though here, the glaciers
were lured into a dead end,
as the huge claws of time
hauled across the ground like
a long pause in someone’s
conversation, leaving shoulder humps
like a bison’s, in loosely
formed spherical organisms. 

Here, I feel the improbability
of our connected minds.
Codes in the maple trees disguised
as art, the oughtness of an ant,
and all those obscure little
engines inside my cells. 

Mendon…full of meandering
streaks of golden eagle wings
shrouding a teal-white glow.  

Mendon…pixels of maroons and
Granny Smith apple greens,
and a pond dressed in
pastels of purple mandarin. 

Mendon… a chemical reaction to grace.
I hear sermons in your stones.

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 the USA Today, Wall Street Journal, the Atlantic, the Havana Times, the South China Morning Post, the Buffalo News, and more. 

See all his poems on Tea House here.

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