I stared at the ceiling fan for hours thinking of centers and peripheries, of the one continent: that distant source I only knew in fragments. Chased by trees, I walked alleys for weeks, arms stretched to graze the hedges on either side that reach toward each other, as if they know how the universe pulls apart. I thought again of the orangutan––methodical––drawn in flashes of rust. The pulsing canopy, each branch relaying the history of her clutch.
194 The Paris-American
Leia Darwish is an MFA candidate in poetry at Virginia Commonwealth University where she also teaches creative writing and serves as associate editor emerita of Blackbird. Her poems and essays have appeared in Blackbird, diode, The Journal, PANK, and elsewhere.