My culture ends at the breakfast table
Porridge is an hourglass bleeding out
I sip on soymilk
and think of an evaporating lagoon
Characters, skyscrapers, family, and rail cards scatter on the sea bed
I don’t say anything at 7 in the morning
The chain churns
Pedals without motion
Rapidly fighting traffic
The same wind that blew past
As a stamp landed on my passport
Greeted me again
I’m ecstatic,
Waving
In the public school courtyard
but I’ve never left the breakfast table
By Yichen Wang
Yichen Wang ’27 cherishes new experiences. He believes every open road and crooked path he takes teaches him something—sometimes tangible, other times not. Writing allows him to reflect on these journeys.
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