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New Milford, Pennsylvania

.

(Not the one in Connecticut, or the handful

of others around the U.S.)

Population as of 2020: 812

Forty years ago, it was over 1,000, but that

was before I was born, and now New Milford

has become another one of those places that

people leave, and I am one of those people

who left. Similar to the church I grew up in

and to the school I attended, it was a place

I never quite fit, despite feeling as though

I should have. But I am no longer trying to

force myself to fit into confining spaces, so

when I visit, I can feel how out of place I am

and instead of crumpling my edges, I skim

over the surface, riding on the tension

of where I come from and who I am.

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My jaw literally dropped at your gorgeous and profound ending - "instead of crumpling my edges, I skim / over the surface, riding on the tension / of where I come from and who I am." Wow. I recognize that feeling when you name it, but I had never put words to it myself. Thank you, A!

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Just piping in to say I lived in the one in Connecticut for 20 years!

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It always comes up first on Google😅

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I like the term "new" attached to a place name--I often think--what is Old Milford like? I love that your evolution brings you to a place where "the coming from" is related to but not determinative of the 'Who I am." Grateful for your wisdom in seeing that the ways you did not fit were as much about the place as it was of you.

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I've always wondered about the original Milford - there are lots of them, but it seems like the first may have been in Ireland (also a small population, but not quite as tiny as my New Milford).

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I like that New England states have many of the same names state to state, and in New Hasmpshire where I live we have Durham where we live, and up the road 40 minutes, New Durham. Still I do like the creativity of original names—like Truth or Consequences, New Mexico!

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Other than the stamp folks occasionally

dropping in

on a full moon

to get a neat postmark to add

to their collection,

Nothing much happens in our

tiny boondocky hamlet.

And they like it like that.

Until mr manse got drunk and shot his wife dead.

I think it's still have a copy of the local rag headline

"Moon Man Arrested For Murder".

Tragedy strikes Moon, Virginia.

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Oh wow, Moon is such a marvelous name for a "tiny boondocky hamlet!" And this little poem packs such a powerful story-telling punch!

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Chuck, it has been years since I was in this part of Virginia, quiet and tucked away. I expect that most of the Moom Men, Women and folk are not like Mr. Manse!

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Oops, this turned darker than I meant it to! It started off as a fun little tribute to Montana town names.

.

Pray for the

Wisdom to

Circle the

Checkerboard, to

Power down that

Big Arm just before the

Belt. Any

Hungry Horse can

Savage a

Buffalo, but the

Lame Deer is

Superior -- it can gulp the

Plains and not even

Yaak. There is an

Opportunity on every

Ridge as in every

Basin, so get your

Butte off that

Rocker. We have an

Anaconda to

Roundup, a

Ledger to settle. The

Monarch promises

Paradise, but that is an old

Molt. Today we clutch the

Bigfork, today we come down the

Hall.

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Omg there must be a Montana specific lit journal for you to submit this to! I love it, and it makes me want to try something similar with Kentucky. Guess I better get my Butte of the Rocker and give it a go!

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I moved to the town of Magnolia, AR when I was 13. A terrible time to move and a terrible cliquish little town to move into.

Her namesake is lovely.

Creamy white petals form blossoms adorning dark green waxy leaves.

Graceful and sweet smelling like a charming Southern belle.

Providing beauty in the springtime and shade in the hottest of summers.

But beneath the surface lie shallow roots

All competing for nutrition and light.

New growth in her canopy almost impossible.

She was here first.

Magnolia.

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Ooooh I really feel this. You managed to hold so much beauty and such powerful suggestion of hurt all in one small poem. Lovely, Karri!

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I love this Karri! What a apt analogy, the sweet Magnolia Tree and flower to a southern belle!

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LIsa, your prompt and invitation to think of place names brought so many to mind. This one about Pine and Strawberry, Arizona came up for me.

^

From Pine to Strawberry

^

Tiny retreat hermitage perched high above

this hidden valley, high desert paradise,

volcanic field, sheltered fissures carving into the earth;

Mogollon rim beckons even deeper

into pine forests, red rock canyons

mountainside trails below escarpment,

Simple lunch shared with silence,

The song of these sacred mountains.

^

One bright sunny morning

I pedal the road to Strawberry,

tiny town tucked away into another time.

Along the way I look for the divine berries,

certain that any town with

so sweet a name,

would bloom with God’s favorite fruit.

Alas, I was too soon, the red gems yet to appear.

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I love this so much! The lines "One bright sunny morning / I pedal the road to Strawberry" gave me such a bright, fantastical vibe. I pictured Strawberry Shortcake pedaling alongside you on a cartoon road. How disappointing not to get to taste actual strawberries, but how marvelous that there's a town with this name.

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Now that would be delightful town name "Strawberry Shortcake!" I'd cycle to that!

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Haha you and me both!

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It being too early for strawberries when one is in a place called Strawberry feels both funny and sad.

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Exactly what I thought! The name still made me feel better!

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Ok, as an Arkansas native, I even had to look up Palestine before I recalled it's in the eastern part of the state. Glad you guys are safe, even with the landslide of issues that ensued!

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Thank you so much, Karri! I thought of you several times while I was there and wanted to reach out but the time ended up feeling too short. I will be back, though, and would love to grab a cup of coffee with you if we can make that work. . . but not in Palestine.

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Thank you, Lisa. Your unusual placename prompt made me think about my childhood drives to the ocean.

HARD TO POLE

A river inhospitable

to travel by canoe

lends its name

to the place we drive by

on our way to the cabin.

There’s no way not to laugh.

Dad and I never miss

this chance—every year

a good chuckle when

we spot the sign.

The white letters mark

a pressed-down way of life

we can’t see from the highway,

can’t imagine from three hours away—

poverty-rich immigrants

mostly German, like me,

and having scattered or killed

the Chehalis long ago—none

of us can ask them

what does Humptulips mean?

A mean river, hard to pole;

No one stopping as they pass you by.

***

-for Humptulips, WA.

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Humptulips! What an incredible name! I love how your poem built my curiosity and then rewarded it so thoroughly. I love those last three lines so much.

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Thank you, Lisa.

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Lisa, breaking down is always stressful, especially in unfamiliar places. I am very grateful you all are fine and yay for Dad! It speaks volumes that in the midst of it all, you find a poem! Every experience a potential poem in the making!

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Thank you, Larry! Looking for the poem (or the song or the story or the joke) is sometimes what makes a hard moment doable for me.

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Keep doing that--the whole world benefits!

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Very good, thank you.

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Thank you, Weston!

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I've broken down hours from home a couple of times, and it's such a stressful experience. I'm glad you had help and a place to sleep!

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Thank you, A! It definitely made a hard experience way less overwhelming!

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Always liked the name Half Moon Bay and Tucson if pronounced correctly like too sone.

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Both are beautiful names! I've been to Half Moon Bay quite a few times over the years, since I have family near there, and once upon a time, I dated a guy from Tucson.

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Thanks dad!

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Yes!!!!

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Beautiful lines here. Sometimes looking outward also rewards us- by reminding us how insignificant are problems can be in the grand scheme of things.

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So true! it's an interesting balance, I think - on the one hand to let yourself feel the full range of your feelings, but on the other hand, to not lose sight of the bigger reality.

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Definitely!

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