People are scattered across the land
dotted among greenery and concrete and potholes
showering in the sparks of fireworks scattered across the wet night sky
bathing themselves in expensive liquor and fruit juices
kissing strangers, even those they think they have known for decades
hoping that the “new” year will bring with it a change in tides,
more shallow waters to wade in
and that the showering sparks can ignite some hope,
some promise
of renewed purpose
that the one second between one day and the other will bring.
Then, there are those who think
that biology shall change so quickly,
that chemistry shall change so quickly,
that physics shall change so quickly,
that religion shall change so quickly.
Heathens line up at the doors of sanctuaries
hoping that frantic shouting and prayer will rid them
of the nasty sins and white lies of the past year,
that all will be well with their souls
and great has been their faithfulness. Amen! Hallelujah?
Those on the beaches and under the roofs of restaurants
celebrate obliviously in edifices
rising out of the ashes of plantations
where the dearly departed and sometimes forgotten
rang in the “new” year with chants over yonder
and wail-like blows in abengs
banned ironically by those who made noise
on the second floor of the great house.
Those in the basement, banished to servitude
were showering in sparks from the acacia-wood fire,
fanning the flames under the hog
so that it stayed hot enough
to warm the heart of the cold-hearted.
Those at work at the hospital hear the cries of the baby
unsure of which year it wants to be born
and feel the last gust of breath from the man on the ward
unsure of which year he wants written on his death certificate.
The end of a year. The end of an era. Hogmanay.

∞

Rol-J Williams is a poet, bibliophile, medical student from St Kitts and Nevis. He is the moderator of the Caribbean Book Club, which meets monthly to champion regional writing.