Empty Space

By Maddie Fox

Scribbling my words into thin air.

Make motions with stale fingers, prick the I’s, cut the T’s—

Have to document my thoughts somehow.

Reading my words to the dust I left behind me.

Sharing thoughts with dead leaves in an empty wood

And for some reason, I expect to be heard.

Want the spirits of nature to be my only audience, a crowd constructed of empty space.

Are you there?

Black holes dart left and right, I think I can see their eyes.

Tornadoes of wind brush the hair from my face. They don’t want to listen today.

The breeze sounds like paper here.

Time stands still.

There is no placing the misplaced.

I can never seem to find my train of thought, even when I think I hear it racing laps around me,

I’m always too far away to be sure.

Can’t hear anything with the distance I’ve created, anyway.

Must’ve bought a one way ticket; must’ve left without me.

Are you there?

I’m greeted with silence.

When I awake, I’m home. Dazed and confused.

Swing open every door and demand the ghosts spend some time with me tonight.

I hate to scare them off.

It’s 3 a.m. now. Was I sleeping?

My body, weak and heavy, answers me.

Tells me I have not yet been to sleep, but my brain’s been dreaming.

Without me?

I don’t remember. I must not have been there.

The ghosts are back again.

Their shadows dance mambas on black walls they think I can’t see.

One by one, out the window, they jump.

They must not know that I, too, can dance.

Time stands still.

Again.

I think I’ve been in bed for days.

See my cats across the room and ask them to clean me, too.

Sandpaper tongues lick my wounds clean off my body.

Flesh made raw once I’m cleansed of all my sins.

I see I left the window open.

Perhaps, so the wind may kiss my burning cheeks.

Was I dreaming again?

Are you there?