Suicidal CNA works seven to seven,

Puts old brains on ice,

Marrying Jell-O and incontinence,

Sterile confidence,

Bony prominence;

Pressure always from the ground up

From twin beds, lone twin beds,

Presses up from all sides, eats

tendons, hips, heels;

Cemeterial chiming way down the street

Jowls cascade down cheeks,

Candles melting;

Clocks on every wall in that emporium,

Faces pressed up, hands make quiet bony cracks,

Louder at dusk;

She tells you, “Let it contract.

Loosen your fists from your bedrails.

I hear the clocks too, ground up

Buff face of white bone.”

By Ella

I am an undergraduate junior studying creative writing. I am interested in short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction and professional writing.

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