Farewell Ball at Quabbin Reservoir
By Lori Lamothe
April 15, 2026
April 15, 2026
April 27, 1938
It’s as if we’re already underwater,
the world blue in early darkness.
Even the grass on the green–
wet and cold beneath us.
the world blue in early darkness.
Even the grass on the green–
wet and cold beneath us.
My heels sink as we waltz
to ghost notes drifting.
On every side: familiar voices,
faces, the swish of skirts
and the rush of too much booze.
to ghost notes drifting.
On every side: familiar voices,
faces, the swish of skirts
and the rush of too much booze.
For the greater good,
that’s what they told us
when they rapped their knuckles on our doors
and warned us of the coming flood.
It was our privilege,
they said, to let the state raze our barns,
burn our houses.
that’s what they told us
when they rapped their knuckles on our doors
and warned us of the coming flood.
It was our privilege,
they said, to let the state raze our barns,
burn our houses.
As for the dead–
their bones buried deep in the land–
they would, of course,
be relocated at the earliest opportunity.
their bones buried deep in the land–
they would, of course,
be relocated at the earliest opportunity.
So we dance as night comes calling
one last time. Further off,
the town hall blazes with all the furious beauty
of a candle about to be snuffed out.
one last time. Further off,
the town hall blazes with all the furious beauty
of a candle about to be snuffed out.
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Lori Lamothe has published four books of poetry, most recently Tulip Fever (Kelsay Books, 2022). Her poems have appeared in Emerge Literary Journal, Glassworks, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Literary Review, Seattle Review and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from the University of Houston-Victoria and is an associate English professor at Quinsigamond Community College.
Website: lorilamothe11.blogspot.com
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Author’s Note:
“Farewell Ball at Quabbin Reservoir” is based on an event held in 1938 in Enfield, Massachusetts. I first learned about the ball when I went in search of a cool running trail last summer. I ended up at Quabbin Reservoir, a beautiful lake that supplies the Boston area with drinking water. At a certain point on the trail, you can see the scattered remains of Dana Common, which was once a thriving town but was flooded along with three others to make way for the reservoir. After doing a little research, I discovered that the residents of all four towns held a goodbye ball before they left their homes behind for good. They danced on the lawn one spring night and enjoyed a final dinner at the town hall. At midnight, everyone fell silent as the orchestra played “Auld Lang Syne.” People wept as they sang. They felt powerless to oppose the state and some never got over the loss of what Enfield’s town doctor described as “a most delightful little bit of Eden.” Some parts of the dwellings were removed, but what was left was burned, then flooded. Even the cemeteries were relocated and the mountains eventually disappeared beneath the water. The idea of this ghost town—a kind of lost Atlantis—haunted me and I knew wanted to try to capture that night.