NEW YEAR’S DAY, 1962

We awoke remembering
the night’s great bonfire: the red
engines growling like dragons;
the canvas hoses, fat with pressure,
curling across the grass like boa constrictors;
the helmeted chief, arm outstretched,
laying a torch to the piled trees;
the yellow flash; the air
sucked right out of our lungs
with the sudden combustion; sparks
spiraling skyward through darkness,
mixing with stars
high above the small throng
that stood ringed in a simple ritual
of heat and light and crackling talismans—
the whole world bright
with the promise of memory.



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