the animals walked out of the burning meadow

ETHAN S. EVANS 

to die more quietly. 

there were only two trees in eden but one of them was bad.  
if i could learn everything i know 
i wouldn’t.

driving on the beltway, you asked me 
if i could still imagine a future.  
a billboard advertised $200 vasectomies.  

the next coalition of nationalists
will be just multiracial enough
to pass muster. and if not, 
would the poem matter anyway.

our metadata suggested spiritual longing,
unspecified. i kept writing 
only because i desired forgiveness.  

we walked the length of the meadow, 
all ash and mound, marveling 
at the trunks of red cedar, stunted 
in their growth by their burning.  

in the distance, smoke-stippled, 
turkey vultures spread their wings 
to clean them by sun. 
a child, racing towards us, 
held his kite aloft.  

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ETHAN S. EVANS (they/them) is a central Virginia–based poet. A current Virginia Humanities fellow, ethan’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in venues like The Kenyon Review, the minnesota review, Terrain.org, and Poets.org. They come to poetry from a background in habitat restoration. 

ethansevans.com