Eve Rounds


It isn’t easy

being a twin.


Others considered us

as one two-part person, 

while our parents saw, 

in our conspiring,

four or more.


Born of one egg,

we yearned to be neither

a one nor a four so we fought

them and each other

to each be ourselves.


Even many years later as we began

the trip south to be with our father

we argued about which route to take, 

where and when to break,

resigned to bicker all the way.


Pop, shriveled to half his former self

yet with unaltered mind,

alert, interested, uncomplaining.

We twins forgot our petty dueling

to measure lifelong memories in one last week with him.


At week’s end, he painfully pulled himself up

to wave a final goodbye from the door.

In the car, my brother, annoyed somehow,

started it up again.


I looked at my father

as if to say, “here we go again.”

Stooped, bright eyed

his knowing smile replied,

“it isn’t easy

being a twin.”


tony rounds   Oct. 2009



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