This city doesn’t like space
I mean space with a capital S
The magnificent planets
The somehow dead but still burning stars
The ‘too big, too far, too confusing, to contemplate for longer than five minutes’
This city likes to pretend it’s the only place that exists
Keeps its head down
This city is greedy, attention seeking
A child too big for it’s boots.
It doesn’t like things it doesn’t understand
Things that make it feel small.
But I like to feel small.
So just at that moment before dusk turns to night
But not so dark the street lamps have yawned awake
In those few minutes
I search for stars.
So I come up here, to the seventeenth floor, and I look up.
That way, I can imagine that I’m up there too
Sat on the edge of one of those burning lights,
Looking down at you.
And I’m laughing.
You think you’re big and strong
From where I’m sat you’re a scribble
A bullet point amongst a sea of ink
Eyes cast downwards.
Now and again I’ll find someone else looking up
A face turned upwards, eyes glinting
A pearl amongst seaweed.
But it’s rare and it’s getting rarer
When we first moved to London
I wouldn’t stop crying for all the noise.
I was used to the sound of the sea
To rock me to sleep
Not car horns and loud voices
A clamour of confusion.
So dad bought me glow in the dark stars and planets
Which I helped him put on my ceiling
Me at the bottom of the ladder
Foot on the base
Ready to catch him and his stars should they come
He looked like god up there.
The back of the packet said the light would never fade
But I can’t see those stars when I turn out the lights now.
I asked dad why
I guess it’s only plastic.