The Weather in Space
This poem is titled after a Dominic Chambers painting.
falls mainly on your face
& this is why we don’t cry
at high altitude. No: we drift
west past Eden the prison town
we named after paradise. Past
Lubbock where our ears start
to pop. We drift across state lines
like lone star hot air balloons
just trying to get lifted. Past Clovis
& on up towards Albuquerque:
Land of Enchantment
Land of Lupron
Land of Cannabis
Land of Mifepristone
Roadside cargo cult: we fill
our knapsacks. The air up here
cracks our skin & bloodies
our noses but these snowy peaks
rain down bounties unknown
back east. From up here it’s clear
why someone landed in Roswell
& not say Lufkin, TX. It felt
that much closer to home.
Julia Ross (she/her) is an emerging poet and educator living in Austin, TX. She writes about parenthood, agnosticism, art & music, and the sociopolitical hellscape known as Texas. Recently, her writing has appeared in The New Verse News, The Marbled Sigh, About Place Journal, and elsewhere.
The Marbled Sigh 