Around here, a pause is always violet-coloured, mostly strung on necklaces and crumbling to sugar between teeth. The flowerbeds new I think, speaking to headlamps in their starred tartness. There’s a way light diffuses across this mess of one-way signs, the thick network of icing on the tarmac, that crumples my 18th birthday to some archive corner. I knew the scorched orbs of streetlights, I knew the waiting space of the estuary, and little else, and that’s okay. I have come to realise that was okay, I wasn’t so disastrous, I was only yearning for evening to come and delineate things. McAllister’s Garage is somewhere I have never been inside, I have only seen the dim objects on display at a remove, I have only measured lateness by the sip of minutes at this traffic light, by the red and black loom of paintwork against an overcast morning. The bright nectar of rain has slipped to gutters, the dusk is powder blue, the flowers are miniature clouds of frilled mauve and I am hungry in a way that I wasn’t in those days, I make time for fortifying, for certain gaudy questions. I know all this could be easily a picture of a place stilled under waves, easily a coral reef that thrums with biting lives. But it isn’t, and people are driving back from the Pavilions, cars filled with the dim rattle of shopping bags
Alicia Byrne Keane is an Irish Research Council-funded final year PhD student at Trinity College Dublin. Alicia’s poetry has been published in The Moth, The Colorado Review, The Cardiff Review, The Berkeley Poetry Review, Banshee, Abridged, and the Honest Ulsterman; forthcoming work will be featured in The Scores. Alicia’s poem ‘surface audience’ was nominated for a Pushcart Prize; the poem ‘Cloud / land arc’ was nominated for the Orison Anthology.
Featured Artwork: James Baldwin Jay Armstrong is a writer, musician, visual artist and editor of ANON Magazine living in Austin, Texas. “All graphics are analog-based, circuit-bent, for the initial purpose of projecting live.”