Turnstiles

by J.B. Stone

It’s sixty seconds
to midnight &
you, I, & whoever else
on this lonely rock trapped
like cattle, only quartered
and left to be devoured
sit in cue. Motionless to
the sounds of man-made
skies plunging scrapyards
into garden beds, flowers
turn like worms; a sinew
of violence morphs front
lawns into warrens of land
mines; the hairline fractures
on our asphalt streets become
fault lines. The Richter scale is
now a doomsday clock unable
to fully rotate, stuck on precious
hinges, yet there are enough zealots
willing to leap over the chrome
guardrails of chaotic timelines,
bum-rush all of this progress,
curb stomp all of our dreams
into dust. Mugging in the form
of displacement. Bless the people
who’ve known the taste of dirt.
Bless the changing tides. Bless
the remaining topsoil. Bless
cultivation. Bless the olive trees
still trying to hug the fathers &
mothers who’ve lost everything
else. Bless the children who will
never see another sunrise. Bless
everyone who is tasting the hot
welts of steel punctured into the
fading air. Bless those still footing
the bill for all of this unfolding hell.
Bless the marginalized who always
seem to befall the out-of-pocket fallout.
Bless those still scurrying. Still finding
leaflets of shrapnel fall like the burning
rain of an unwanted stormfront. Still
hearing fireworks when there is no
cause for celebration. Still running for
higher ground. Still sleeping with one
eye open. Still praying with one ear
vigilant. Still unstill.

J.B. Stone (he/they) is a Neurodivergent/Autistic spoken word poet, writer, critic from Brooklyn, NY now residing in Buffalo, NY. They serve as Founding EIC/Reviews Editor at Variety Pack and reads flash fiction for Split Lip Magazine. He’s the author of three chapbooks including Fireflies And Hand Grenades (Bottlecap Press 2022). Their writing and performances have appeared or are forthcoming in Write About Now, NPR, The Buffalo News, The Citron Review, The Talon Review, Peach Mag, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, among many other spaces.