Kit Evans
Letters to My Father
I wanted to live wholly on the riverbanks,
the ones my father painted
those early mornings.
Hot sun, running waters, soft grasses
brushed into the canvas in oils
that wouldn’t dry for months.
Those early mornings, before punching nails
for eleven hours a day
in hot sun.
For months after I turned eighteen, I wrote him letters
that he’ll never read. I never wanted
to be like him, fragmented.
Fragmented pieces
are still whole things,
he tells me.
Dad, tell me why I can only make art
in the mornings. Why I can only swallow
liquor and rage.
Dad, tell me why it’s so easy
to break in half and scatter. To fill
one space, then another, and another.
Kit Evans is a queer poet and writer from Oregon. He is a current MFA candidate at Pacific University. His poetry has appeared in The Dewdrop, Hiram Poetry Review, and Vagabond City Lit and others. When not writing, Kit can often be found next to large bodies of water, or lifting rocks in search of cool bugs.
Return to November 2024 Edition
I wanted to live wholly on the riverbanks,
the ones my father painted
those early mornings.
Hot sun, running waters, soft grasses
brushed into the canvas in oils
that wouldn’t dry for months.
Those early mornings, before punching nails
for eleven hours a day
in hot sun.
For months after I turned eighteen, I wrote him letters
that he’ll never read. I never wanted
to be like him, fragmented.
Fragmented pieces
are still whole things,
he tells me.
Dad, tell me why I can only make art
in the mornings. Why I can only swallow
liquor and rage.
Dad, tell me why it’s so easy
to break in half and scatter. To fill
one space, then another, and another.
Kit Evans is a queer poet and writer from Oregon. He is a current MFA candidate at Pacific University. His poetry has appeared in The Dewdrop, Hiram Poetry Review, and Vagabond City Lit and others. When not writing, Kit can often be found next to large bodies of water, or lifting rocks in search of cool bugs.
Return to November 2024 Edition