By Cathy Ulrich
On the moon, they don’t have gravity like we do. He is hunched and pale as cave fish. Says how heavy it is here, how he misses the earthrise. After school, I take him to the party store and buy him a hundred helium balloons, tie them to his wrists, his elbows. He closes his eyes and thinks of the stars.
How does it feel? I ask.
He says: Like home.
Cathy Ulrich is a writer from Montana. Her work has been published in various journals, including Ellipsis Zine, Menacing Hedge, and Jellyfish Review.