So This is Worcester
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| Photo by Josh Wingell |
So This is Worcester
This is the city where brick remembers—
red-skinned mills along the Blackstone
still warm with the echo of shift whistles,
their windows fogged with the breath
of workers who built half a century of hope
one metal tooth, one loom’s heartbeat at a time.
This is where Quinsigamond’s slow water
wraps around the land like an arm
that refuses to let go,
mirroring burnished sky over
Regatta Point, where rowers carve
temporary signatures into the lake.
This is the city that learned to rise
again and again—
from the ashes of three great fires,
from quiet collapse of industry,
from the grief of losing its children
to wars fought far from Vernon Hill.
This is where the first perfect smile
was captured in steel and wire—
the birthplace of the modern wrench
in the soft glint of stainless steel
cast in a factory on Prescott Street.
This is the city where the Worcester Lunch Car
still smells of coffee thick enough
to hold a spoon upright,
and where diners gleam like chrome promises
at 2 a.m. when streets whisper
their softer truths.
This is the city of the Higgins Armory,
where silence gathers in the armor’s cold ribs,
holding centuries of breath
from men who once believed
iron could save them.
This is the city of the turtle boy,
weather-worn mischief in bronze,
the unofficial patron saint
of every kid who learned
to be stubborn enough to stay.
This is the city where the Worcester Nine
took the field in 1880,
where the first perfect game unfurled
like a clean sheet of possibility
across a diamond of dust and sun.
This is the city of poets and fighters,
of students whose ambitions hum
through the streets like power lines,
of murals blooming on the sides of old factories,
color insisting on existing
against the gray.
This is Worcester—
a heart with soot under its nails,
a pulse you feel only
when you slow down enough
to listen.
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This poem ekphrastically inspired by Ted Kooser's poem, “So This Is Nebraska” as prompted by DVerse Poets.
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i love how much you weaved the history of the city so well into this poem, all those remaining and repurposed... how we may live and be part of history.
ReplyDeletethis is brilliant - from "the echo of shift whistles, through every detail of history and character. The repeat at the start of each stanza works so well, defining the location over and over till the reader finds themselves entrenched and happy to be there. It is a gritty narrative and full of pride
ReplyDeletep.s. I lived in Worcester in the UK - nothing quite like this though we had civil war battles , a river that runs from Wales to the sea, a cathedral and a trade route from Neolithic times!
p.p.s. I cant sign in with google - Laura @Poetrypix.com
Chris, you've immersed your readers into the history and spirit of Worcester magnificently. Your poem impacted me in such a way that I want to read even more about this most-interesting place you've described in fine, poetic detail (and perhaps visit). Impressive work. Standing O!
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