#1
kill me with kindness
with traffic lights
with rain and sand and grass
with chintzy brown eyes
with two cards a year
with new friends
and old ones

every once in a while
i think of New Hampshire
and it's like keeping secrets
it's like breaking my fingers
while eating strawberries
from a broken plate
that i took from your house
and you never found out.

there are less than 300 miles between here and there
but i counted them sideways, with my head pressed to the map
and now i cannot forget that gap.
#3
Oh shit. I was just thinking about your poetry the other day and now it's here.

"a broken plate that I took from your house and you never found out" is such an image. It divulges more to the reader than to the second person. That's something that works really well with your poetry as I remember it. It has a way of inviting us in. The plate's also the kind of thing you're left with sometimes. Plates and books and whatever other detritus of life.

That being said, I don't know how well the juxtaposition of "breaking fingers" with "broken plate" is working. Maybe too much breaking in so few words. The sense conveyed is good but I think maybe it could be a little more varied in presentation.

Anyway I hope you're well. It's nice to read something of yours again.
#4
so good to read you where did you go


The voice in this is clear and distinct, like it's being whispered into your ear. I would maybe take out a few words for flow. Lovely read
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#6
the repetition works just fine for me, like it's allowed in this piece. That rhyme to open the stanza was the good stuff too. good to read you.
#7
As a resident of New Hampshire I approve of this, and can also affirm that my state is more or less similar to both keeping secrets and breaking ones fingers while eating strawberries from a broken plate.