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”

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


what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you


sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we