A Fictional Dress is Ailbhe Darcy’s 2009 chapbook with Tall Lighthouse Press. Set in her home city of Dublin, or further afield, these pieces are full of semantic leaps and juxtapositions, sometimes graceful, sometimes intriguingly choppy.
from Couplings (A Fictional Dress)
He bought happiness and slid it on my finger
and then my hands were patterned with ink.
Anacoluthia. The stone comes with a certificate,
congratulations arrive with advice,
flying a horse comes natural as swimming,
as wearing a dress or carrying a child:
my fists frigid about her reins,
the warmth of her sweat on my thighs.
She knows where she’s headed – she’s done
this before – all it takes is a pull or a nudge,
her wings are the sails of two mating ships,
lows croony, sawning to a domicile.
Albertine is the name of the priest,
I have a jar for best man,
a fuschia and fox give me away,
preserve me in honey, we kiss.
It goes without a hitch.
Ailbhe Darcy 