Eve Rounds

dad, know

my memories of you
echo with the scents
of mulch and bamboo
of breyers seasonal blackberry ice cream
the streams of car wash suds down the driveway
your stale sweat of late night business travel
to places I’d see myself later in life
in the arms of other men less deserving of my love
of beer on your stache and breath I’m still so fond
of waking to your return
and the safety
in having that

“well, they do say that you marry your father.
and sometimes your father is too nice.”

“i love you daddy”

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards