Pluto

Pluto is a planet.

Pluto IS a planet.

Pluto is a rose is a rose is a rose

A risen star

A pinpoint of light in the night.

Look, there’s Venus.

Isn’t she lovely? 

Morning star.

Mourning star.

Mourning a planet that lost their status because, 

Honestly, I’m not sure why.

It’s hard to keep track of 

Rules and arbitrary

Definitions but

Pluto is a planet.

Because when I was a kid

They told me it was and

If the night sky can shift and

Change that much

What else can we lose?

Orion’s belt always hung over home

But home shifts and

The sky doesn’t always look the same.

My god.

How bright the stars were

That night in Tanzania where

Heads tilted back and

Upward we marveled.

In the way all this could be 

Hidden from us at home.

Pluto’s a planet if it wants to be.

And so am I:

A risen star.

A rhythm star.

A rose a rose arose

A celestial being in a body of

Bodies of planets

Named or not.

Gravity keeping us

Plunked picked placed

In whatever 

Orbit we are

Star meteor moon

Asteroid belt

Galaxy cosmos

All that is.

Here.

Riding the vagus nerve

Sailing along the spine

Back to whatever name

We’re inclined to claim.

Pluto, darling, planet

Or what-have-you

Is it enough, then, just

Knowing you’re out there

Floating slowly orbiting

Not caring what we call you.

Because, Pluto, you simply

Singularly,

Are.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. 💚

-A