This is for all the people I’ll never meet. 

 This is for the person I might have kissed had I taken a different subway line

on Saturday and the person I might have been

 if that boy hadn’t broken my mother’s teenage heart. 

This is for the people I would have loved if last winter hasn’t been so cold and for the city 

I would have called home if I had written haikus on napkins 

and carried pens in dress pockets and in the knots of my hair. 

This is for who I was, who I am, who I might be. 

This is for you.

 Camryn Pulaski