• pluto

  • O

    A Poem

    03.31.2017 / OTHER

    Something lovely for your Friday.

    Maggie Dietz, “Pluto”
    From That Kind of Happy



    Don’t feel small. We all have
    been demoted. Go on being

    moon or rock or orb, buoyant
    and distant, smallest craft ball

    at Vanevenhoven’s Hardware
    spray-painted purple or day-glow

    orange for a child’s elliptical vision
    of fish line, cardboard and foam.

    No spacecraft has touched you,
    no flesh met the luster of your

    heavenly body. Little cold one, blow
    your horn. No matter what you are

    planet, and something other than
    planet, ancient but not “classical,”

    the controversy over what to call you
    light-hours from your ears. On Earth

    we tend to nurture the diminutive,
    root for the diminished. None

    of your neighbors know your name.
    Nothing has changed. If Charon’s

    not your moon, who cares? She
    remains unmoved, your companion.

    p.s. Another lovely poem here.

    © 2007-2017 Erin Loechner. All Rights Reserved.
    Website Design by Veda House / Development by Alchemy+Aim