Front Porch Review
We do not paint.
We are the pigments,
resins, solvents and additives
the soft animal bristle and
hand-assembled metal bands.
We do not write.
We are the molecules linked
together in crystalline structures,
soaked into paper, allowing
our thoughts to bleed at the edges.
We do not make music.
We are strings vibrating,
communicating rhythmic visions hanging
in air, that feeling of wanting to be
thrusted towards the chorus.
We do not build architecture.
We are the triumph of imagination
over materials. Rising out of empty space
into those impermanent
dwelling places we call home
We do not sculpt.
We are the molded clay
welded into three dimensions
with our fingers, holding the carver’s
knife like a butcher hacking beauty out of wood
We are not illustrators.
We are the bare metal plates dipped
in a bath of acid, exposed, leaving
behind sunken lines, a soft material
smudged into soft shadows.
And we do not dance.
We are releasing energy, simply taking
delight in the movement itself.
Unable to separate our limbs from life,
a natural order that we all belong to.
Nor do we love. We are love.
The eyes and hands and ears and lips of God.
George Cassidy Payne is an essayist and poet from Rochester, New York. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, MORIA Poetry Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Ampersand Literary Review, Allegro, Red Porch Review, Tea House, 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, the Havana Times, the South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, Syracuse Post Standard, and Rochester City Newspaper.