Eve Rounds


it was our privilege
to watch la bamba in the master bedroom
our preteen bellies full of linguine with canned clam sauce
prone posed and upside down
on the queen meant for three princesses
screech singing unknowingly incorrectly
at the top of our lungs hearts tonsils
gasping over the sudden and fatal coin tossed plane crash
the twenty one year old family cat observing us from the shag
we grip each others hands too tightly to feel any pain
in our fingers hearts preteen minds
no premonition
no present fear
that ten years later one of us would die
in a classically tragic car crash
just out of life’s turbulence
amidst the hope of
heads up

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