After the End
by Kellelynne H. Riley
After the end there is only a woman waiting on life, made up like a marriage bed, white silk sheets pursed and tucked just so, made up like a fairytale whispered in a sow’s ear. There are no scarlet lips bleeding promises here, no lifeline tresses rippling down tower walls. There is no alabaster skin set in glass, no tender hip rolling, bright eye pleading, slippered foot tapping. No heart of gold to wrap a handkerchief around and tuck away. There is only a woman waiting on herself, spit-shined and boxed into these four walls.
Kellelynne H. Riley lives in Portland, Oregon, where she is working on a masters degree in book publishing. Her work has appeared in the Bound Off podcast and in journals including The Portland Review, Poetry Quarterly, and Plasma Frequency. She can be found online here.
When asked to name her favourite fruit, she replied "I have a mad passion for fresh figs, and have been known to plant fig trees in other people’s gardens under cover of darkness."
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