Multitudes

[thegaslights]

There is a girl down the street,
stepping slowly aside your passing car,
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken
breath.
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief?
 
I can’t help you.
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom?
 
I reshare numbers that bury me
in intersectionality pressed useless.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt
while remembering the light in the fog
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back.
 
I sigh and stare.
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut
through galaxies of thought
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you
or compassionate and clinical allocation
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one.

[Richard]

Hey thegaslights,
There are some nice images in this piece. However, I find myself struggling to understand some of your message here. I'll go into more detail below:

There is a girl down the street,
stepping slowly aside your passing car, -This sounds like the speaker almost hit the girl with his car? Was that your intention here?
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables -I'm not clear on how the speaker would know this.
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken
breath. -I like this line break to emphasize "breath." My only question is why does she breathe in broken breaths? 
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think -The first two lines here make me think the speaker did almost hit the girl from the previous stanza with his car.
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief? -I like the image in the last two lines of this stanza. I just don't understand what they have to do with the overall message of the poem.
 
I can’t help you. -I'm assuming this is the speaker talking to the girl. Am I right?
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass -I like this line as a way to describe the church going experience for some people.
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom? -I have no idea what this line has to do with the poem. May be I'm missing something. It wouldn't be the first time.
 
I reshare numbers that bury me
in intersectionality pressed useless. -I don't know why the intersectionality is pressed useless here.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt -I find this image a bit too abstract. May be think about using an image to communicate this idea more clearly.
while remembering the light in the fog
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back. -I love the last four lines of this stanza. The image is just wonderful. My only question is who is the person the speaker is talking about here? For some reason I envision a priest. I don't know why.
 
I sigh and stare. -Stare like the birds? Was that callback intentional?
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut
through galaxies of thought -I've read this poem multiple times, and I still have no idea what this going on the first four lines of this stanza.
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you -Is the "you" here the girl from the first stanza?
or compassionate and clinical allocation
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one. -I like this stanza. I just don't understand it has to do with the girl, the image of the church goers, or the childhood fog.

To be honest, this poem feels like there might be too much going on in it. I would ask yourself what is the most important message you want this piece to communicate, and once you decided on it, revise it to emphasize that message. I look forward to seeing where you go from here with this poem.

Keep writing,
Richard

[Todd]

Hi, let me give you some comments to think about.

There is a girl down the street, --While I think this could work as an opening in that you are contrasting the multitude with the one, this is still a very flat start. I know you're carrying ideas forward into the other strophes but I would sacrifice all of that for a more evocative starting point.
stepping slowly aside your passing car,
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables--I would consider starting here and removing everything that came before. I know--drastic. These three lines have some power to them.
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken --This could just be me but I'm not a fan of this break. I realize that the line break is simulating broken breath but I don't think breath thematically can hold its own line, and I think adding the pause actually comes across a bit gimmicky. All that aside, it's lovely phrasing.
breath.
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief?--All of this feels overwrought. I would consider cutting it all. You also show a tendency here to do a lot of continents of grief sort of constructions (_______ of _________). I think they weaken the poem. They come across a little too much like bolt on poetic constructions. I'm probably not explaining this well but when there are too many of them in a poem they seem unearned to me.
 
I can’t help you.--This seems to be like dialog given to a homeless person (girl at empty tables) or internal thoughts
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom?
 
I reshare numbers that bury me
in intersectionality pressed useless.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt--Reams of Fear...
while remembering the light in the fog--Nice break here. I'm not sure I like the first half of this strophe But I like this line to the end.
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back.
 
I sigh and stare.
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut
through galaxies of thought  _____of__________
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you
or compassionate and clinical allocation
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one.--I like this ending but it feels like I haven't attached any emotional significance to the one enough to make this pay off for me.

I hope some of the comments help on revision.

Best,

Todd

[thegaslights]

Thanks Richard! This is helpful - I knew this piece wasn't quite working, but I couldn't see past my own intentions. I will address some specific questions below. 

Hey thegaslights,
There are some nice images in this piece. However, I find myself struggling to understand some of your message here. I'll go into more detail below:

There is a girl down the street,
stepping slowly aside your passing car, -This sounds like the speaker almost hit the girl with his car? Was that your intention here? Sort of. I was thinking gravel road, slow driving, step aside. Looking to convey breakdown of community / rush hour sort of feel. 
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables -I'm not clear on how the speaker would know this. Yeah I think I need to work on clarifying narrators. Was intending for a third person narrator/observer speaking to the same disinterested (not the girl) average Joe, throughout. 
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken
breath. -I like this line break to emphasize "breath." My only question is why does she breathe in broken breaths?  
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think -The first two lines here make me think the speaker did almost hit the girl from the previous stanza with his car. Will work on this in revision, different from my intention. 
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief? -I like the image in the last two lines of this stanza. I just don't understand what they have to do with the overall message of the poem. 
 
I can’t help you. -I'm assuming this is the speaker talking to the girl. Am I right? 
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass -I like this line as a way to describe the church going experience for some people.
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom? -I have no idea what this line has to do with the poem. May be I'm missing something. It wouldn't be the first time.
 
I reshare numbers that bury me
in intersectionality pressed useless. -I don't know why the intersectionality is pressed useless here.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt -I find this image a bit too abstract. May be think about using an image to communicate this idea more clearly. Actually, this might be the spoiler that I should have included to pull this poem together for an audience. F.O.G. is an acronym for fear, obligation, guilt that is used in abuse-survivor circles to describe emotional abuse, particularly from narcissistic (or similar style) disordered individuals. I'll think on how I can include this in the poem without overdoing it... 
while remembering the light in the fog
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back. -I love the last four lines of this stanza. The image is just wonderful. My only question is who is the person the speaker is talking about here? For some reason I envision a priest. I don't know why.
 
I sigh and stare. -Stare like the birds? Was that callback intentional? Yes, stained glass too 
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut
through galaxies of thought -I've read this poem multiple times, and I still have no idea what this going on the first four lines of this stanza.
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you -Is the "you" here the girl from the first stanza?
or compassionate and clinical allocation
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one. -I like this stanza. I just don't understand it has to do with the girl, the image of the church goers, or the childhood fog.

To be honest, this poem feels like there might be too much going on in it. I would ask yourself what is the most important message you want this piece to communicate, and once you decided on it, revise it to emphasize that message. I look forward to seeing where you go from here with this poem.

Keep writing,
Richard

I completely agree that I need to narrow the focus here and make my meanings clearer, thanks so much for the helpful feedback! 

[CRNDLSM]

There is a girl down the street,
stepping slowly aside your passing car,
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken
breath. I like how you describe the scene, very mysterious 
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief? What does this have to do with the girl? Will I find out? I think oh my gosh i hope he doesn't pull me over, I don't have time for this, I'm signalling all my turns, my brake light? My brake light?
 
I can’t help you. I'm guessing the girl is you and the 'i' is just pointing the first stanza out to the 'you' to draw attention to how 'you' is perceived
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom?Maybe, Good question all the multitudes of lives and reasons out there
 
I reshare numbers that bury me ah 'she' is 'i'
in intersectionality pressed useless.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt
while remembering the light in the fog
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back. So now is 'you' the reason by the previous church statements?
 
I sigh and stare.
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut oh yeah what about the police lights? What was that all about?
through galaxies of thought
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you
or compassionate and clinical allocation unexpected vocabulary pretty cool
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one. I don't think it's physics in relation to everything you've just talked about. I think physics takes away from the piece as a whole, and the pronouns