NE 8th Ave by NE 9th St*
*One of Florida’s first modern roundabouts, built circa 1992
January 1, 2025 | poem by Brooke Davidson
photos by Alissa Gary | illustrations by Matthew Cupelli
This story is from Atrium’s Winter 2024 magazine, which released December 2024.
Right foot pulses. The red sign becomes
my start and stop,
an upside-down triangle beckoning
into the circle. I enter,
begin the counterclockwise dance
between thousands of pounds and brains
rebooting behind the wheel.
The single lane leaves no room for error.
Tucked in a northeast neighborhood,
firebush flowers survive in the center of the roundabout,
their red blooms zipped shut like its history.
Tourists’ cameras click in Gainesville’s historic district
while the roundabout remains quiet, three blocks away.
One-way arrows render my curious eyes immobile. Yet
it isn’t that special anyway.
An unassuming gaze,
a singular, faded brown pupil.
Will you too break its stare?
Do I leave your mind
as fast as you exit the roundabout,
an everyday encounter with no story?
Another fingerprint. No matter
how hard it’s pressed
into the mold of those I meet,
the mark always fades.
I’m not that special anyway.
But I won’t leave you
in my blind spot if you promise
to accept me for mine.
I urge you to yield
to doodles of spray paint, sugarcoating
the bright yellow warning sign
underneath those black licorice swirls.
Northeast Eighth Avenue by Northeast Ninth Street,
pedestrians view you from all angles,
an invitation laid out in weathered red brick,
nothing to hide except your unspoken claim to fame.
Circle back. Look again.
You’re worth remembering,
and I am, too.
