Leia Darwish

green light after green

I’ve willed another     ancient encounter
you on that corner     blame it
on a lead foot the rain-     lacquered flagstone
the moon low     this new fog
where landfill turns     to creek
I cut     the engine when idle
strums the folds     of my shirtsleeve
the hills     the way they go
up on all sides     here a dirtbike
will open the night     air boiling
between foot and shifter     the way I insist
here is no place     to linger at a stop sign

Leia Darwish is an MFA candidate in poetry at Virginia Commonwealth University, and lead associate editor emerita at Blackbird. She has been nominated for an AWP Intro Journals award and her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in Copper Nickel, PANK, The Pinch, Southern Indiana Review, and elsewhere.