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Poetry 
Rebecca Evans 

Falling is Just Another Means to an End 

Icarus wanted to burn. He never saw the sun as gold, 

or life, 
or even a warm afternoon. He was one of the few that, 

since birth, thought of the sun as a post-fire 

boiling death. How you can love someone you've never met; 

deep, one-sided love: 
that's how he loved the sun. 

There's something wrong with the way we tell stories, as if lying is only 

tangential. 

Nobody ever tells you that 
Icarus wanted to burn. 

Instead he made wax rain down onto his insipid father 

who built him paper wings 

and would ruffle up his hair, saying 

"The gods have plans for you, young one." 

So he concentrated as he fell, plucking death from the skies 

moment by moment 

piece by piece 
until it was enough to put in his back pocket 

and save for a rainy day. 

6 

A1 

c 

Souls Drifting from 

1. 
It surrenders to the sway 

Of the water on the bottom of 

The Sable River and relaxes 

In the gentle passing of sandy 

Against its sides and whitened 

Belly now empty of its purpos 

Blink, but it's still there. The< 

Avoid it like its polluting 

The freshness of their space, li 

Already even though it's not d 

Scatter as a boy throws a rock 

They smell fresh eggs sinking 

Away from a female. It 
Doesn't matter why, just that 

And leave the salmon alone 
To rest and gently chew nothi1 

The salmons tried to see, I knc 

Over the dam so many times, 

Avoided hooks and colors of y 
Only to drift backwards with 1 

Leaves to settle in a small dep 

Of pebbles in late October. 

Longing to choke on the color: 

Of leaves that seep 

Through the surface and to le1 
Is hard for anyone, so I think , 

That prized moment when an 

Removes his oxygen tubes wit 


