She gathers discarded possibles
as one collects pennies in the street,
sweeps up crossroads in search
of missed moments,
cast-off maybes and might-have-beens.
I looked back, once, to see my life
had I lived otherwise
(closed this door
not that, not missed my train, said no
instead of yes)
and was startled to see her there, a girl
where I expected strings
and split infinities.
With one hand she put her finger
to her lips, the other
stirred her pocket full of universes,
jingling them all,
like so much lost change.
|Jessica Cho is a Rhysling Award winning SFF writer of short fiction and poetry. Born in Korea, they currently live in New England, where they balance their aversion to cold with the inability to live anywhere without snow. Previous work has appeared in khōreō, Flash Fiction Online, Fireside, ApparitionLit and others. They can be found at semiwellversed.wordpress.com and on Twitter: @wordsbycho.|