The End by Rae Iolene

The End 

I  know it’s good when 500 isn’t enough

and the pages keep turning,

like a knife to the heart, twisting and twisting

until suddenly the last paragraph appears. 

(What is reading? The transportation of emotions;

the dissection of a body. The smell of seaweed along

a ship’s deck —  the cook yelling from below, “Get me 

some more water, you damn lads! For what is reading?)

It’s the mourning that sets in my bones,

a chill from an ice dragon’s home. 

For the end of the story is always sweetest

and never long enough.   

xx. Rae Iolene

10 April 2026