The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On

by Franny Choi

By the time the apocalypse began, the world had already ended. It ended every day for a century or two. It ended, and another ending world spun in its place. It ended, and we woke up and ordered Greek coffees,

Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life.

with a “real person.” I avoided coughing in public, though it was too late. I applied for a BIPOC farming intensive, though it was too late for the earth to yield anything but more corpses. New species of horror sequence were already evolving: election bot; cluster bio-bomb; driverless wife.

I have a million ideas. I have last year’s ashes in my throat, stories stuffed so full of morals they bleed sugar.

Someday we’ll lie in dirt. With mouths and mushrooms, the earth will accept our apology.

Every day of my life has been something other than my last. Every day, an extinction misfires, and I put it to work.

Sometimes I wonder how long I’d have to run to reach the last generation where one of us felt loved,