NASA has a spacecraft named Juno.
It circles Jupiter, photographing her ripples and swirls,
sending us photos of her Great Red Spot.
Here on Earth, a tornado warning has been issued.
I sit at my desk, watching rain clouds approach.
On my computer, the radar blinks.
The fruit bowl cradles an orange, its dimpled flesh
lit by intermittent lightning flashes.
On my computer, maps of infrared,
wind velocity, pressure.
All this data
announcing the approaching storm.
Scientists say the Great Red Spot is a storm
raging one hundred and eighty-nine years.
Juno snaps close-up photos, while in the distance,
a tornado siren screams. Light bounces from my orange,
a tiny planet nestled on my desk,
lit by the lightning of Earth.
I’ve heard that scientists can measure
the height of clouds, thunderheads
higher than the stratosphere.
I wonder if Jupiter’s clouds are as tall.
Lightning flashes again and one second later, thunder
rattles my window. The power flickers, comes back,
but still no rain.
I reach for the orange, my little dimpled planet,
peel and eat its sweet flesh
and wait for the storm to arrive.
I wait for what might turn out to be
one hundred and eighty-nine years,
consuming my little planet slice by slice.
–
Raima Larter’s work has appeared in Cleaver, Another Chicago Magazine and others. She has published two novels and a popular science book. Before moving to Colorado, she was a chemistry professor who secretly wrote fiction and poetry and tucked it away in drawers.