The Chickadees

do not land in my palm because they trust me. 
I am a phantom they barely notice. They sense my body heat, 
the blood coaxed through my thin veins like tree sap, and they hear 
my vibrations, the way Beethoven coped with going deaf, stopping 
long enough to bathe their tawny-colored tongues with seed, crushed 
seashells of safflower and thistle, feeding the groaning earth.

George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat ReviewMoria Poetry JournalChronogram JournalAmpersand Literary ReviewThe Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA TodayThe Wall Street JournalThe AtlanticHavana TimesSouth China Morning PostThe Buffalo News, and more. 

See all his poems on Tea House here.

Support Our Dharma Work


Leave a Reply