Jimmy Sbordone

57 to Kenmore

6:44: Sitting in Watertown on an inundated weekday, two things are guaranteed: a bus into Boston

and the exhaust fumes cascading behind it. If you’re lucky, fresh lamjun might waft by. Missed breakfast.

It’s one of those days: my intestines told me so.

6:54: You remember the mid-term at 8:00, and scramble for the international relations notebook. The bus driver meanders into the stationhouse, crusty cronut in hand.

6:57: How long does it take to eat a damn donut?

6:58: What the fuck is neoliberal institutionalism?

6:59: On the third try, the engine finally turns over. While you oscillate between the latest Times article on Tibet and trying to find the elusive Charlie Card that keeps worm-wiggling further down into a crevice in the backpack, the 504 and the 57 roll by. Hordes of strained students and their future selves in suits clamor onto buses. You look up: the ark is gone, and Noah left you there, in Watertown Square, with nothing more than the lingering specter of Armenian food and exhaust fumes.

7:01: The myriad road-raging drivers have their own ideas--


Untitled

A supernova is perhaps the most destructive process in the known universe: it is the final act of a large star that runs out of fuel. These massive explosions are so immense that they obliterate any planets or other bodies in orbit of the star. It is not purely destructive, though: a supernova is the only way to produce many of the heavier metals necessary for life as we know it on Earth.

* * *

Is violence—

          1.       Our identity?
                    The love-
                    child species

                    Of atomic calamities
                    & galactic murder.

                    For the metals in your brain
                    Thank the planet

                    Somewhere.

                    You’ll never know
                    Individual names

                    lost, to the event
                    horizon of Forget.

* * *

          2.       Just a wisp

                    of our past?

                    Far from it
                    To love arises

                    History’s peripheral lens
                    Demands we utter “Oh, horror!”
                    So that we emerge mindful
                    Of a molecular act of compassion

                    Only caverns of our nature
                    Can cognize

                    a single point of light


Jimmy Sbordone is a freshman at Boston University, majoring in International Relations and aspiring to a dual-degree with Communications Studies. His passion is for cross-cultural dialogue through finding the East in the West and vice-versa. He was born, raised, and still lives just outside of Boston, in the small city of Newton, MA.