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

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

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the families

where the angle of the trunk allows humans to be silly and reckless stretching out over low levels of occasional rapids high levels of constant

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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

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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

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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!

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incircles

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

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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

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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

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love

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

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noise

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

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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

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Twins

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.  

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should.

dark morning darkness woke up crying i now embrace the word should. it’s a simple truth. my dad should be with me on my   

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27 days ago

i lost you so suddenly too suddenly your blue eyes in a constant state of near tear because you loved life giving us so much

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.no . title .. here …

your ……. face against the bruised air between my quiet mind and the raging storm …. panic .. desire …….. pain and wishful logic slowly …

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haikus, 2 of them

my wake centered on my back crippled by unconsciousness he places a kiss my run breath rising with the sun footsteps in opposition to the

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invitation lost

existing in halves one foot in the sand one boot in the snow full and void rarely a windless day and so the sky celebrates

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michelle

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

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my mind mine

i am in every room eclectic functions grounded purpose my vulnerable brain unruly mind neglecting to preheat the oven succumbing to the chorus that’s been

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decisions decisions

a somber run but a fine speed off to the side lost in my breath’s greed at quite some distance many paces behind ding ding

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the white in the white

heading south i see her approaching by borrowed bicycle white earbuds white capri pants white breezy bob pedaling to the rhythm section of her chin

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we three

they rest on the surface of me granting my entry into the most sacred of places a surprising density with neither mass nor saturation i

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ruth less

she is trapped an arid word she’d never thought to use herself on behalf of herself not in this timeline a word she’d used often

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suchthing

there’s no such thing as a perfectplace. no hardwood floor without that one exposed nail head no bookshelf full of novels that evoke only layered

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no title

silence but for my poppa’s clock now set to spring climbing up climbing out of myself burrowing into an unidentifiable comfort present most times of

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you open the door

existence becomes a soft lens a distant campfire a weak cup of tea no less real when we are chest to spine always simple always

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.07 imagining

your grip about my rib cage guiding lifting propelling in forward motion the grace of pas de deux the ferocity of a mosh pit we

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this is

the kind of day my jaw bone gnashes on an invisible feast craving to create craving to feast on the creation but with instrument missing

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search and ..

she had forgotten why she’d even driven west this morning so she turned herself about and headed east she had forgotten why she parked the

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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

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from the douchebag bar

his bare grip strong encompasses my gloved fingers his own recent history the constellations of our midnight promenade sleet storms although tepid freeze my toes

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the fortune teller

a welcome humidity breaks through the seal of my skin seeps into my soul an onoff drizzle revives the resilience of my muscles releases their

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my bed

your discontent began before your consciousness allowed yourself to fear it. having special requirements for your horizontal state i yanked the sheets out from my

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battle of the bands

he didn’t expect anyone to listen his brass notes swallowing up the water in unison with the mist gulping down the rest of us he

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obvious title

i walk for a long while i’ve been a runner hiker biker now a special occasion stroll a brisk paced too many beers too many

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on my walk to target

owning in a transitional neighborhood is like being part of an evolutionary experiment. where i was once afraid to walk eight years ago, i now

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water sports

i prefer the deep end depth is my comfort of somersaults and penny fetching cheering high dives into the solitude of aqua night my dreams

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the landing

i want to land on you i want to feel a violently warm wind strike my face i want to lean into it unabashedly and

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borrow to burrow

i weld your shovel in both hands and dig further and farther down for more to reach above the stretch had been too easy the

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listening

i listen and lift growing lighter with every line swaying to the sound of such truth it’s mesmerizing. my heart twists painlessly. everything surrounding this

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