Empty

by Justin Evans

“Someone died, and then the universe seemed larger”
—Marvin Bell

As if the absence of a person could make the universe
more bearable, something more desirable, something
to look forward to in the mornings while you drink
your coffee and read the paper like a black hole 
in reverse, growing exponentially larger from each 
crease of an unfolding reality. Of course that’s not it
at all. You know it’s the emptiness, the solitude, 
the ability to take a deep breath but not the desire—
the inability to exhale. But then again, just like 
the golden spiral proving all beauty found in 
this world is a matter of proportion, there is epiphany 
derived from the strange world of fractal geometry
and the elephant-like empty space that was once 
someone you knew: 

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“‘Empty’ was born out of efforts for what I hope will be my next book, a discussion of how the event of death is treated within a small community and within the individual. I wanted to address the absurdity of trying to limit or pigeonhole the way people grieve loss in their lives. In ‘To Love the Dead is Easy’ I was salvaging a poem-gone-wrong, or one that obviously does not fit the tone of what I want my book to be. They were written very close together and I think the second poem was blessed with all of the sarcasm I could not use in the first.” —Justin Evans

Justin Evans was born and raised in Utah. After serving in the Army, he returned to Utah where he studied history and English. He currently lives in rural Nevada with his artist wife and their sons, where he teaches at the local high school. His most recent books are Cross Country (WordTech, 2019) which he wrote with the poet Jeff Newberry, and All the Brilliant Ideas I’ve Ever Had (Aldrich Books, 2020). Recent poems have appeared in diode and San Pedro River Review. In early 2022, Justin was granted an Artist Fellowship from the Nevada Arts Council.