the trees bend crossways from the buildings,
wavering grid of limbs against lavender sky.
Our daughter asks to take a picture:
she wants to remember how the branches look.
I raise my phone, pantomime documentary.
You slide my hand into yours and squeeze.
Always the same thumb on top. We agree
it doesn’t feel right the other way,
speculate our entire relationship is one
of thumb placement, banana compatibility:
you, the tart green-yellow first half
of the grocery week, me the sweet yellow-
black decay of final days. This afternoon
there will be lightning, a singular gray cloud.
Our daughter will play outside. We will let her
wear her school shoes, tell her not to worry.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 4.
Julia Ross (she/her) is a poet and public special education professional from Austin, TX. She is the author of the chapbook Sacred Beetle Contemplates the Funding Freeze (Ghost City Press, 2025). Her work appears in Harpur Palate, South 85, Tab Journal, Glossy Planet Magazine, Beaver Magazine, 2River View, About Place Journal, and elsewhere.
See all items about Julia Ross