The Poetry Project

Never Angeline Nørth


Sara met a woman afraid of sadness.

Is the fear any better than the sadness would be? Sara asked her.


Then why?

I can’t stop. It’s a loop that eats me.

At this point, Sara ate her and all that was left were two snakes that had been inside her. One pink and one brown. She picked up the brown one and kissed it. She wore it in her hair briefly and then released it. She picked up the pink one and went to kiss it but it bit her. The wound swelled and then hardened over years.

Sara, the pink snake and the wound got an apartment together but never got around to decorating. They took a class on self defense and flower arranging. Sara began to spend all her time arranging flowers defensively, but there was no room in the apartment to put them, so she lined them up out front. The lines became many, rows and rows deep. They went on forever. The pink snake came out and looked at them.

They’re so beautiful, it said. So creative.


Sara met Time in a pretty void.

This is the prettiest void I have ever seen, said Time.

It's okay, said Sara.

Since we are here alone together, I would like to tell you I am sorry, said Time.

For what? said Sara.

There was a sound like shaking a bag of small shells and the smell of burnt anise. Spiders came from above.

Oh no, said Time, eyes welling. You don't know yet. You don't even know.


Sara and her dog made a bonfire. They stared at it and thought their own separate thoughts separately.

Sara thought about a window she used to sit by in one of their old houses that burned down. Before it was burned down, this window looked out at the ocean. The water there made Sara feel new even though Sara was actually very, very old.

The fire popped and sparked at them, making crackles and creaks and smells in a language they didn't understand.

Free me, it said.

Sara's dog was thinking about paws. What a wonderful invention. Paws!

Issue 17