Turn – Nadia Jones
Originally printed as part of ‘All The Small Things II’, published by Soup Gallery x Foolscap Editions.

Sweaty summer thumb, grade five, pushing her pencil
deep into my index finger. Between the knuckles.
How tender this little girl was when she struck me.
The lead lodged into my skin at an angle
and snapped off. The doctor told my mother. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
He said, 𝘕𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵. What could he have known?

In this disorganisation of being an adult
the translucent ghost of lead sits beneath the land
of my middle finger and could mean anything
on any collapsing day. You have been the source of all my problems
Madeline Hart. I ride over the memory and give Madeline
a little figurine. Her dark grey mineral winkin
a silver fossil into my mouth.

At this point, in a diviner’s montage
I’ve created a number of sanctuaries. Moulded in alloy
are the several different totems: for what, in the 5ᵗʰ grade
might have been pierced. And who—𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺—entered into what.
In my deep vision, within the stone’s breath
the taint of the lead oxidises to yellow. The air inside
the temple the same temperature as Madeline’s body. Hours move

from one foot to another, and a Guide shows up instead.
No more incident available. And if, at present, I throw up
the shiny armour of my milky device
will be flecked with the lead.