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”

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

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