The Little Prince

Clare Gibb / V Mag at UVA

The Little Prince

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

I wake to a ceiling that refuses to stay still–

A slow orbit of shadows spinning from streetlight,

And I am the only thing keeping it from drifting apart.

Last night I dreamt of deserts again,

Their silence brimming like a question I once knew how to answer.

In the dream, I walked until the horizon folded,

And when I turned back, every footprint had already learned to vanish.

Sometimes the subway hum sounds like a fox calling for a name,

Sometimes the moon rises with the impatience of a boy

Who cannot wait for another sunset.

I think of the rose I never watered,

How it leaned against the window until the glass fogged with its breath–

How I mistook tenderness for something that could survive neglect. 

Here, in the city, I collect small planets:

A coin left on the windowsill,

A stranger’s umbrella abandoned on a rainy platform,

The single star that follows me down Sixth Avenue.

I carry them from station to station,

As if the weight of things you cannot keep

Could teach me how to stay.

And still, the essentials keep slipping–

A scent I almost recognised in the steam of a bakery,

A language hidden in the hiss of brakes,

A memory of a hand I once held across an ocean.

I close my eyes and the night tilts,

The room tilts,

And for a moment, I believe I could step off the edge 

And find you waiting

With a cup of water for the rose

I keep trying not to forget.