and it is good, a way of letting life
out of the box, uncapping the bottle
to let the effervescence gush
– Tony Hoagland, Jet
On the brink, 11:59 on the 31st. Breath held, heart held. Dark and icy, but in a moment…
The earth spins.
A burst. Light, champagne, “champagne supernova in the sky…” Fireworks, like glittering, exploding Lucky Charms across the universe,
raining hearts, stars, rainbows, four-leaved clovers, horseshoes, blue moons, red balloons, wishes for the new year, new life, self ahead. The earth spins. Sound follows, in technicolour too; popping, fizzing, kissing, cheering, raucous honking, and the fireworks—Go!—thundering.
On the ledge, 00:01 on the 1st! Carpe! Now! Leap. Breath in. The air tastes of snow and all-or-nothing. Off and away, into the sky, on the hope, no, belief, that it will be brighter, bluer on this side of living.
The earth spins. The fireworks end. The cars stop honking. It is dark and icy again, abruptly. And the air, exhaled, tastes ashy; the wine bottles and boxes of cigarettes are empty. Something, a split-second, was lost. One shouldn’t wish on a supernova; it is, actually, a colossal, brilliantly bright, exploding star dying.
Sometimes I wish I were still out
on the back porch, drinking jet fuel
with the boys,
There are other firsts, many others, and other ways of existence. The first sprig of green grass, first day of the week when Monday is off. The first day it isn’t dark at six a.m. First day of a birthday month.
The first day of summer. Sunny. Balmy. Gloriously, simply, flip-floppily easy. On a beach. The first, nearly soundless contact with sand: first step. The toes sink. Dusted gold, slightly tickly, warm under my feet.
Just warm enough to stop, before the dash to sea, into the first wave—there is always another—the first splash, salty. On the first day of summer, “there’s time enough to do so, too, time enough for all of it, in a languid, damp, and heat-fuzzed way. An atmosphere of, I’ll get to it…” I’ll carpe, leap, “soar up into the summer stars,” but now,
I am here. The sky is endlessly blue. This sky. The colours, down here, are bright red and yellow beach balls. The lemonade is pink. The umbrellas like Lucky Charms. Breath clear, heart clear. Not on a tightrope. Grounded, on a beach, in the moment and the “eternal sunshine of a spotless mind,” in which, for a moment, “the light lasts forever, life lasts forever.” No wishing for another. No need. And when the earth spins and night falls, stargazing,
as if remembering the bright unbroken planet
we once came from,
to which we will never
be permitted to return.
We are amazed how hurt we are.
We would give anything for what we have.
– Tony Hoagland, Jet