Next time she’ll order coffee
We sit down at tea, you across from me,
Your eyes still green, mine still watery.
We wonder at the weather, pass it between us
like bread to be buttered.
I say we are all thick yellow slabs,
melting into violence and ignorance,
waiting for the knife.
You tell me I sound absurd.
I tell you I’ve gotten melancholy these days.
Since you’ve been gone, hell froze over.
The devil sews icicles into the hell-bound’s skin,
and earth is hotter than it’s ever been.
Blue-veined creatures joust with scribbled signs,
their wooden handles sharpened into stakes
to stab their neighbours.
Vampires hold office;
contrarians hold nothing.
I see in your face that you’re frightened—
the world is different now that you’re dead.
We shake our heads, sip our tea,
ignore the bustle outside the café.
You tell me of heaven—
the crowds are sparse,
angels are atrophying,
wandering like bored tourists.
God polishes the pearly gates himself.
You say next time you’ll order coffee.
I wonder if I’d be better off
in the coffin beside you.
Then the world begins to spin again.
Savannah Smyth is a 23-year-old poet from Northern Ireland. She is a third-year student at the Open University, studying English Literature and Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in Muse Pie Press, Superlative Literary Magazine, Sheepshead Review, The Words Faire, Poetry Habitat, Metonym Journal, ‘Breath and Shadow’ Fall 2025 edition, and the Fall 2025 issue of Inlandia Journal. She also received an honourable mention in The Dark Poet’s Club’s ‘Small Space, Deep Impact’ competition and The Dark Poets Prize Edition IV.
Inlandia Journal. She also received an honourable mention in The Dark Poet’s Club’s ‘Small Space, Deep Impact’ competition and The Dark Poets Prize Edition IV.
