Eve Rounds

you’re not invited

woke to the sound of
my mom’s voicemail…then
her broken voice
and…nothing. in. between…then
my feet on broken glass
glossy white paint flawless
save the place where…he…
a list of my book recommendations
sitting on the passenger side
my second favorite place to be inside his…still
those are some of my favorite books.

today is not significant
the date nor the weather nor my afternoon plans
grief invites itself
to morning coffee. grocery shopping. trashy tv.
grief is the most unwelcome guest
monday through monday
on a road trip
a tropical vacation
when i wake.

those fucking subaru commercials with car accidents
the wreckage
my trauma
grief’s invitation

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