In The Space Between Each Ring
She's running out of room for these empty shells. Her mind spins to find a place to put them, but after a while they begin to pile up and to pile up and to pile up. So she puts some in little suits and send them off to work in offices that have long forgotten why they even began to reach for the sky. At the end of the day they take short icarus flights out of wall to wall windows. Some she puts in dresses that compliment the furniture. They smile while quietly dying on kitchen counters making coffee. Everything that's worth knowing she taught to herself. She taught herself how to see the numbers that swim around in peoples' heads. There was a time, she thinks, when there used to be quite a few more songs swimming there too. And they played beautifully in the background of sprawling paintings depicting childish ignorance. The canvases are gone, having been replaced long ago by mathematical blackboards. Sometimes she wanders campuses because she can't help but watch the spreading disaster; Students pursuing their majors in slowly murdering childhood. She has a funeral for each and every one of the plants that die in her apartment. There is a steadily growing cemetery in the park a block from her building. The ceremony is always short and semi-solemn. A small hole and a growing number of words, because with death the prayer gets a little longer. It's not directed at anyone or anything in particular. It just drifts up into the sky like a runaway birthday balloon. She hates lists with a passion. Something about those neat little lines of words sets her on edge. Don't ask her for a top ten, favorite, most memorable anything. All you'll get in return is a cold and incredibly sad stare. In winter she retreats with the sun. The city is dark and so is she. The only places it seems to snow anymore are on tv and in her mind. She swears that if you look at the screen just right, you can make out two kids laughing and building a snowman. More than anything she wishes that she could join them. In a land where the snow is always clean, where she can see her breath and roll in fresh peace. Maybe next time, if she looks just right. Maybe next time.