After the International Astronomical Union, 2006
My mother chops the rot out of tomatoes
and tells me I am beautiful as I am.
On the news, scientists demote Pluto
from the planets: not giant enough. Not heavy enough
to demolish the debris that cross her orbit.
A shame, my mother says. She cooks
while I imagine tomatoes with bones:
orange ones heartbeatless, red ones
that howl I am scared, sunspots
that bleed black from her raging blade.
I am beautiful only in light that eclipses my face
so you cannot see my craters.
My mother chops the rot out of tomatoes and I orbit.
She cooks. Scientists erode Pluto with math and size.
I belt my stomach shut to make an asteroid.
Enough. Who preserves the fat and the small?
Who lets us live? My mother chops debris
out of tomatoes. I moon around her, too heavy.
I howl I am scared. My mother chops.
Demolishes. Spirals. Howls.
I am scared of what is enough.
Samantha Fain is a writer from Connersville, Indiana. She is an undergraduate student studying psychology and creative writing at Franklin College. Her work has previously appeared in The Indianapolis Review.