Divisions

[billy]

first off, i'm guessing you want the bolded words to stand out. for me it doesn't work, the words themselves need to do the work and i think they do it well enough without the bold lettering. the last line does little for me but i loved the rest of the poem. the feeling and emotion are strong enough to not be isolated. i made some comments in the poem but they're just minor nit for me. overall i loved the poem and read it a few times .

Divisions (quick revision to see if I like it}

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion, alone with my father; no need for alone it reads as your just with him without it.
nibbling toasted pain de mie, lovely
choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttering a few prayers
for comfort
in the wake of her passing. instead of bold why not put this under a line spacing so it stands out?

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat. great image which shows a picture to the reader. it suggests to the reader so much
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort, for me the poem ends here
I guess it no longer felt like home. i think this line should go and a better line used for the end something more stark


Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

Its nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Its nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.