Volume 14:4, Fall 2013
Prose Poem Issue
Always the dream has hurry at its core. My father in his gray suit in an empty room. Hes younger here, all his hair dark and full, the suit pressed and well put together. He says he cant find his three brothers who died in Vietnam. He flicks his tie. The rooms empty. I try to tell him about his grandson. He looks down at his feet. My brothers, he says, and I feel I keep him in this memorial space of constant return. His suit pressed and readied for our perpetual meeting.
Eleanor Bevil Tipton's poetry has appeared in Pleiades, Front Porch, Drunken Boat, and Best New Poets 2010. She is the recipient of the Virginia Downs Poetry Award from George Mason University where she completed her MFA in 2011. She lives in Washington, DC with her husband and two children.