"on inevitable" by Ethan Park
JANUARY 2026
on inevitable
death
and the sun
and the seasons
for now.
true love,
if luck allows.
history, sickness,
allegedly landfall,
allegedly boats
(carnivorous)
pulling fate
over dark water,
and the water
still yielding.
this, they say,
is given:
the first bird
dies by stone
and gravity begins.
this, they say,
is scripture, is prehistoric
ink, is inevitable
as the millions
blinking. destiny written
with magic marker
on missiles, enter
the trick of the missing
home. or no,
destiny says it was never
your home. destiny says
the sand, once settled,
is perfect for a villa, the view
to die for, the Mediterranean
a dream even in October,
when destiny finds
its reason to fire.
against the steel
we dream
this evasion:
make evitable all death
by rubble and gunfire,
make evitable all limbs
estranged. make evitable
cribs on curbs
and notices on doors,
make evitable teeth
beneath the highway bridge.
make evitable knees
pinching color
from muscle, make
evitable the buckle
of homes under homes.
make evitable jesus
if he is not love,
make evitable god
if he is not yours.
make evitable all evil,
no lesser,
no more.
bring all aches
of aging and insects
after rain, bring the sun’s
hungriest edge
and its timely arrival.
bring the end
of an empire,
many times over,
and the closing
of every ocean. bring the song
of soft-bellied children,
sick with revenge,
cooing as birds
before disaster.
and, if sung,
bring disaster.
let men watch fire,
too.
- - -
11/12/2025
Ethan Park is a poet from Silver Spring, Maryland, and the proud grandson of Korean immigrants. His work, revolving around themes of diaspora, masculinity, and militarism, has recently been published in the If All The Trees Were Pens Anthology.
