Afterglow is a collection of poetry from a strange time. Starting in 2020 and ending somewhere between then and now, it's about figuring out what living really means. It's laughing through the world's collapse, searching for meaning in almost everything, fighting and embracing solitude, and realizing that everything could change at any moment. It's learning to look for an afterglow in all things. To throw your hands up, surrender, and feel the sun coming.
Afterglow is a collection of poetry from a strange time. Starting in 2020 and ending somewhere between then and now, it's about figuring out what living really means. It's laughing through the world's collapse, searching for meaning in almost everything, fighting and embracing solitude, and realizing that everything could change at any moment. It's learning to look for an afterglow in all things. To throw your hands up, surrender, and feel the sun coming.
I'm writing this in late May of 2022. Iâm in Joshua Tree, sitting on a concrete floor in a little white room out in the middle of the desert, surrounded by almost nothing. It feels like an ocean. I came here to finish this book. Mercury is in retrograde, if that means anything to you. Iâm not sure if it does to me. Thereâs dirt and bugs for miles, and not much else. Itâs perfectâas perfect as itâs ever going to be. I started writing these poems in early 2020, when everything started going to shit. I then realized (not as quickly as I would have liked, but eventually) that everything is always, somehow, going to shit. Everything is, at the same time, always coming together. Thereâs never a moment in life when it just stands completely still, even if thatâs the way it feels.
My first instinct was to never publish this book, it seemed too big a burden to give to people who had already lived it, to then ask them to read about it. My next instinct was to wait until the pandemic was over. And then it kept going. And going. And goingâuntil it looked like it would never end. I wanted to call it âAfterlifeâ for a while, because I naively thought I would be able to separate my life into two parts. One that had already happened, and now that everything was paused, another for the one that would come next. As if life were something that could be stopped or started at any designated time. Some different existence out beyond the months spent staring at a wall, one that had late nights and long days and new experiences, grand beginningsâthat would suddenly commence the second this nonexistent âsomedayâ bubble burst, when everything was normal and good again. Nothing is ever ânormal and good,â you see?
It became clear there would be no âback to life,â we were here and we had been living it the entire time. The only thing weâre really given is the opportunity to make the most of what time there is left on this giant, spinning rock. Itâs ridiculousâthe whole thing. Ridiculous and beautiful, so finite yet infinite, itâs almost hilarious. If Iâve learned anything from observing the sky over the last few years, itâs that the sun never waits on better conditions to rise. It shows up every day, no matter what else is going on around it. Iâve learned to laugh at everything, that it might be the only real thing that matters. I know that each time the sun goes down, an afterglow existsâshould you choose to see it. And if you never did before, make a different choice. Thereâs another sunset happening tonight, and if it already has by the time youâre reading this, wake up early.
Iâm pulled over on the side of the road now as I write this. Itâs golden hour. Thereâs a good chance I miss the sunset I drove all the way here for. Iâm on my way back into town to get dinner, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself I would be fine if I didnât. I got to this deserted house much later than I thought I would, and didnât realize how far it was from any civilization. I had wanted so badly to get here, unpack, settle in and write this introduction when everything was calm, but thatâs not happening. I wasnât given that option today, not really. But I know what to say right now, on the shoulder of this dirt road, starving as I lose the sun, because it works that way. Jesus or God or Madonna take the wheel or whatever. I was almost born in the back of a car for the same reason.
Life is a mess. It doesnât go on once you get home at a reasonable hour and neatly fold your clothes. It happens in the middle of something important, when youâre running late to church or at a party or leaving the place you should have stayed just five minutes longer, unknown to you. There are road bumps and hazards and closures, some that last two years or more, and you canât control any of it. The only thing you can do is laugh or write or just keep going, all of which I tried my best at. I hope any of these sometimes silly, sometimes sad, sometimes hope-filled poems put some life back into what felt like a very strange time for all of us. This book may well be just an odd time capsule. But I wanted to give these poems space to exist, because they happened and theyâre true and I want to include every piece of our existence in the story.
The road back to where Iâm staying is lined with streets that have the word âsunâ in them. Sunbeam, Sunkist, Sunfair, Sun Gold, Suneverâwhich I read as âneverâ on my way in and âeverâ on the way out. Funny how perspectives change like that. There are more, if you can believe itâSun Mesa, Sunflower, Sunny Vista, Avenida Del Sol, Sundraâwhich I can only assume is some sort of sun tundra, which I can only assume Iâm completely wrong about. The last street is called Shifting Sands, and they are, I can feel it.Â
I didnât miss the sunset. But if I had, it wouldnât have mattered. It would still be light out. And often, thatâs the best part, the part that happens after. Itâs where the most magnificent colors come from. If I hadnât made it back in time for whatever  I  had  made  up  in  my  mind  was  the  main  event, there would have been an afterglow. And if that was all I was promised from that point moving forward, I was going to take it, and savour it, however long it lasted.
The definition of afterglow is âa glow remaining where a light has disappeared.â I believe that glow is always present, should you keep your eyes open and stay on the lookout for it. If I may leave you with one task, itâs this: I ask that you spend your life not chasing one thatâs already happened, not looking ahead to one not promised, but taking in every ounce of this one, the one you have right here, right now in your palm, and spend the whole thing laughing. I hope you enjoy this book even though, honestly, most of the poems have nothing to do with this. Weâll get there in the end. I hope you think thatâs funny in itself, because I do. Because I felt like I needed to write this regardless, for both of us. Because I love this book, I believe everything that happened matters, I believe in making jokes, and at the time of finishing this forewordâIâm sitting in the light of the sun that set well over an hour ago, and God, no matter how I got here, I wouldnât want to be anywhere else.
P.S. If you donât like the word âGod,â stay away from this book. I donât know if I like it either, but I use the hell out of it.
P.P.S. I just looked up what âSundraâ means, turns out itâs just a name. I didnât really even remember what the tundra was, which Iâll blame on growing up in Southern California. After some fifth-grade geography style research, Iâm reminded itâs the worldâs harshest biome, a frozen region in the Arctic. Itâs the coldest place in the world. Itâs also considered a desert, funny enough. The winters are hard, thereâs a permanent layer of ice that stays frozen no matter what. The sun rarely comes out, but when it does, it stays for almost twenty-four hours. They call it the âland of the midnight sun.â Summers are brief, lasting about two months, and when they arrive, wildflowers come in bursts. They bloom quickly and miraculously, in a way that would make you think they either have no idea theyâre going to die so soon, or that they do know and itâs the only thing theyâre living by (or maybe theyâre just unafraid, know theyâll be back in another life). In conditions that seem inhospitable, inconceivable for anything to be born into, let alone thrive, they do. Even in the coldest place on Earth, there are invincible summers, growth seasons, life still to be found.
Afterglow, Michelle Marie Jacquot's third poetry collection, came to fruition throughout 2020. It began as musings and reflections in a time of death, quarantine and loneliness, but soon became a project which helped Jacquot realise that the 'life' we are often waiting to start, has already begun. Hence the name Afterglow. While Jacquot does not deny the reality of 2020 nor invalidate how many of us felt in this time, she hopes this collection is relatable but also a reminder to appreciate the afterglow, as the sun continues to rise and set without change or obstacle.Â
Jacquot's poetry strikes a fine balance between short-form/quip-like poems and long-form dramatic monologues. While DETERIORATE, Jacquot's second collection, is stronger in regards to its consistency and structure, there are many pieces in Afterglow readers will find their own experiences within as well as find them humorous as Jacquot brings a lightness to the heaviness of living through a pandemic. 'Split Ends' is a piece which encapsulates the sudden solitude so many were thrown into by quarantine and periods of lock-down; how swiftly our lives were put into our own hands completely. Jacquot reveals both the fear and courage in these moments. Her work also explores feelings of significance in poems like 'I Can't Stop Reading My Horoscope' and 'Maybe Heaven Got Boring', reflecting upon our place in the world, particularly when life as we know it is in disarray.Â
"Have you ever prayed out loud to no one just to hear the sound?" [Religion]
The above captures Afterglow perfectly, it is a collection fuelled by seeing the comedy and tragedy in what we have all undergone in recent years, but it is always honest. Jacquot reminds any reader of how much has been shared recently, how the loneliness we faced means we are not alone. A commendable feat and once again, Jacquot's work was a joy to read.