like the third glass
of a New Belgium juicy
haze IPA. Ancient wisdom
on a napkin. Lighting bowls
and random deposit slips on
the top of a Panasonic stereo,
one that only plays FM radio
and cassette tapes. Like being
together with my family, but
not requesting the
reception that has to follow, or
like a sunflower picked off at
the root, thrown into a bouquet
with grandmother’s lace and
other flowers called weeds.
I feel like quitting the story before
it’s over, and then taking a walk in
the exact same footsteps as my
children, towards my father’s garden,
a parallel kingdom of plants and herbs
planted in hyperspace.
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.