New England, Present Tense

A Poem & Reflection

Glass towers shoulder brick mills,
factories turned coffee shops, lofts,
history repackaged in warm Edison light.

The river, once thick with industry’s runoff,
glides cleaner now, reflecting the neon
of a city that never expected to glow.

On the shore, weathered lobster boats rock,
their hulls scarred by a livelihood
that costs more than it earns.

Tourists in L.L. Bean boots
point their phones at lighthouses,
capturing a romance that salt-stung hands
don’t have time to believe in.

The backroads still coil through pine and stone,
past farmhouses with collapsing porches,
where old dogs sleep through every season.

Cranberry bogs, cornfields,
orchards still open on Sundays—
tradition, a thing that lingers,
even as Teslas slip past rusting Chevys.

Autumn burns the hills in October,
a spectacle for weekend hikers,
before November smothers it in rain.
Winters are shorter now, meaner,
less predictable, but the plows still scrape
before sunrise, the old rhythm holding on.

And in the small towns, on gray afternoons,
someone still sets a kettle to boil,
watches the sky flatten into snow,
and wonders if this place is leaving them behind
or if they are the ones fading first.

-EPH

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This poem was inspired from the novella “The Body,” by Stephen King and “North Woods” by Daniel Mason.

This is a different kind of post for me, and aware that poetry is probably not what you signed up for. But I think that similar to my reviews, a historians bookshelf is shaped by what surrounds it. Poetry is on that shelf, and I thought I’d share some of my own on the occasion. This is my Substack after all. The theme is books and history, and what better way is there than to commemorate them both by poetic reflection?

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I run a book club at my school, and this months theme was “Stephen King” in honor of my birthday. It was my first time reading the story in full after being a life long fan of the film adaption Stand by Me. The book reflects on childhood and origin, and over the last few years, I’ve become more reflective of where I live.

I am a New England boy through and through; I’ve lived in multiple states of the region, and never quite appreciated its beauty until I began to look. It seems like we always want to go elsewhere, and rarely ever acknowledge what is around us already. So many people want to see the New England states for its history, environment, ancestry, celebrations, food, sports (Go Red Sox!), vacation, etc., as it plays such a pivotal role of American life. And you should come visit.

But when you grow up here, it changes you. You become part of New England, and it becomes your whole personality. So I’ve reflected with poetry, because it is often the form I know how to express it in. I do not know if it is any good, and do not really care. I wanted to share this specific poem, because it is probably the best one I’ve written in a couple of years. So I began to reflect on what New England is like in the present day compared to the counterpart of its history. As a historian, I am constantly thinking about the past with my students, so it is only fair I do the same for myself. What I know, how I feel, and the observations I make along the way.

I think explaining poetry takes away the mystique and interpretative element, so I will stop here. I hope that you reflect on where you live and grew up. Sometimes it reveals more about you than you realize.