I originally wrote this poem in September 2021 ahead of a trip to New Hampshire and Vermont. My grandfather had passed away over the summer, and we were holding his memorial service over Labor Day weekend. Some of my most special childhood memories are of trips to New England: at my grandparents’ house in New Hampshire, or on the beach in Maine. The Northeast will always have a special place in my heart.

Have you ever been to Maine
to see the ocean in September?
The sighing swells must roll and crash
the same way I remember.
The waves were always cold in Maine
but the chill is deeper now.
The August sun is setting.
The sky is cooling down.
I know the sand is warm in summer.
I know winter comes with snow.
But September’s pause along the shore
is nothing of its own.
I’ve never seen the ocean
with September in the air.
The tide still breathes as summer wanes.
It breathes, and I’m not there.