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New York Rhino
by VA Wiswell

I keep a box filled with New York City dust 
in a dresser drawer in my room.

I’ve spent years collecting it,
scraping it off subway cars,
vacuuming it off restaurant tables,
brushing it off the seats of taxi cabs 
and holding it in my hand.

I’ve blown it into plastic bags, siphoned it 
into empty water bottles, and
stored it in the satin lining 
of my best wool coat
until I could return home and
safely deposit it into my box with the 
rest of my collection.

I wonder what the Rhino thought 
on that sunny day in June
when my shoe-string arms stretched
between the spaces of the rot iron gate
of his savanna home at a crowded zoo 
in Brooklyn.

Was he expecting 
a pet? 
A cuddle? 
A snack?

Was he disappointed when, 
instead, I used my eyebrow brush to sweep 
a caked clump of dust from the creases of his
leathery-skinned back into the pocket of my less
leathery, more faux
purse?

Is that why he looked at me sideways, with 
his glassy, black-water eyes, floating in sorrow?

I wonder if he knew I was 
bringing his dust home to add 
to my special collection, that my plan, 
all along, though,
unbeknownst to anyone, 
even me, at least then, 
was to take the elevator 
to my building’s roof garden, with
box in tow, and shower the city
with my dust like a fairy
shedding 
tears of joy, to share my gift by
sprinkling 
happiness on the world below.

I wonder if maybe then, 
my friend,
the leathery-skinned rhino, would 
forgive me,
maybe then, he 
would understand

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Hear VA Wiswell recite the poem on the Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast: