Of Lost Boys and Night Nurses
Laura Saint Martin
I take my break in a conference room, fart
on the throne of a forensic
psychologist, who doesn’t work these
witching hours, think of stealing from
her enviable library. The room, at
2 AM, is cold, the whistles and moans of
a poorly maintained ventilation system
sentient, maybe malevolent.
A glacier calves in an ice machine
down the hall. Outside the door, a
waning young man stalks a version
of me that doesn’t exist, whistles
his inner assassins home.
The curtain is thin here, here in the
hour of old souls putting on their shoes.
There are so many places here that
broadcast blood under certain light. How many
times now have I been a crime scene? The
criminally insane rest in our hands like eggs, leave
bite marks before they break. I am the
witness to each small apocalypse. I document
breaths and ghosts and notes slipped under doors.
I watch and I wait
in my righteous silence of downed moons.
Laura Saint Martin is a semi-retired psychiatric technician, grandmother, jewelry artist, and poet. She is working on a mystery/women’s fiction series about a mounted equestrian patrol in Southern California. She has an Associate of Arts, and uses her home-grown writing skills to influence, agitate, and amuse others. She lives in Rancho Cucamonga, CA with her family and numerous spoiled pets, and has dedicated her golden years to learning what, exactly, a Cucamonga is. She works at Patton State Hospital and for Rover.com. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.