Sunday afternoon-- edit 3

[Dinosta]

Thank you for making it so much better. Really appreciate the guidance true. I wasn't sold on some of your suggestions at first but ended up seeing your points, and now I totally agree. Thanks thanks thanks.

-jc

I actually think your original version was much stronger. "Unnoticed" is valid, it's commenting on the background noise unnoticed by most of the people in the area. I might easily have imagined on my own that there is some silverware clatter, but samba is more specific and less expected. I also liked the line about empty Starbucks cups. It's drawn from a real experience, its relatable, it adds imagery, it lets us know they have been there a while, and that they have the kind of relationship where they would stay at Starbucks talking for hours. The strength of the original is that it paints a picture of this scene between the two women. I'm all for brevity, but in this poem I think you've cut the things that made it interesting. By cutting detail you also focus more on the masochism which makes the poem melodramatic in my opinion. When it was interspersed with other imagery it felt more matter-of-fact and honest.

The strength of your revision is that it clarifies the ambiguity in the last two sentences of the original. My suggestion is that you splice together the bolded sections below.

original
Red lines crisscross brown hairs on her arm.
She wears a ring of round red cigarette burns
and three-quarter-sleeves—a bracelet
bearing to the world her current state of mind.
Chatter and samba swirl unnoticed in the air
as I crawl into her brain, a red-faced deep-sea diver,
in front of two Starbucks cups, empty for hours,
ensuring our right to the table. Lines turn to ruby lips,
spitting bitter tastes to the ground. The bile spreads
under my chair, and trickles out the door.

Starbucks on Sunday afternoon

She wears a ring of round cigarette burns
and three-quarter-sleeves:
a red bracelet baring her state.
Chatter and silverware tinks swirl
as I crawl into her brain, a red-faced
deep-sea diver, exploring

crevices that surface in eruptions
of blood. Cuts turn to ruby
lips, spitting the bitter taste of hate
to the tiled ground. One mouthful less
for her to swallow. The bile spreads
under my chair, and trickles
out the door.