By S. Lieto

fast rain those blurry reds streamed our front dash 
though the car was steam & comfort as we entered the curve 

gliding inside the rotary when a produce truck one of those  
long ones cut ahead of us & a horn belted from my palm’s own  

force my own hand & my foot a harsh hard brake & look there  
was no accident but I felt every clearcut tree through  

a window deep inside me & the truck’s wheels sliding just-past  
the hood & just look at how I yelled fuck off & no one heard  

me but my lover who caught herself on the whim of a taut  
seatbelt & I felt like a child again thrumming ready  

for that argumentative wake within me & waiting for the right 
exit & look there was no accident just adrenaline’s face  

alongside my face & silence & a lover beside me touching  
the back of my neck at my hairline asking: do you want me 
 
to clean it up later? my hair was growing out & I wanted  
so many things & I eased my grip on the wheel. yes, I must 
 
have answered her just as we passed the place I was born  
shining out as reflective letters on a highway sign. 

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S. Lieto is a poet currently pursuing an MFA at the University of Maryland, where their work was awarded the 2025 Academy of American Poets University Prize.