Julia Ross
I am trying to hate this stretch of Texas
but today, everything glitters. Skim-coat of ice on the surface
of a pond. Cattle knee-deep in frosted grass. Child-sized
pink jeep discarded sideways on the edge of a town
with more bans than bathrooms—but still. In our train car
a man is day-drinking & calling his bank on speakerphone.
He recites his whole SSN & DOB. The representative confirms
his balance is 0. We are riding coach through the same
sulfur gauntlet. Lime Mine in faded print & a half-built
warehouse. Unsecured WiFi named Pasture—but still.
Sunlight glints off the slow trickle of a stream mid-meltoff.
Between Temple and Fort Worth I try to text a friend:
the ratio of book-censors to libraries feels lopsided here.
My screen flashes Signal Lost before I can add but still.
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 Beaver Magazine, Dog Throat Journal, 2River View, About Place Journal, Rise Up Review, The Marbled Sigh, and elsewhere.