“I Forgot Where My Dreams End” by Wenxin Tang

I buried the capsule for so long:

Green shirts with not a pride. Into the woods of man-made

tropic: in mid-summer, a thick cotton

quilt of bed with 38 degree Celsius on AC;

countless times at the edge of the hell,

Never brushing her teeth, lock up in the single cell of the bathroom.

4 am, Shelley’s poem

5 am, lingering in the building as a zombie, the door eye is a patient in white

6 am, wandering into the playground, and here opens the canteen, a bag

of corn, snails and steel smashed into the stomach

The mansions moving around, off the ground into a mirage

calling for an ambulance from 3,000 miles away

with her last breath.


Like a street juggler, she roves on roads of Beijing

without an ID, shut down from hotels, she saw

the musical, and she said to a taxi driver,

“Drive me around.”

“Mind naming a destination?”

“Where you bathed in fire.”

“It does not exist on my map.” Hers does. She followed it to

the 9 ¾ train station: Next to Normal.


In the white room, a spider stands on a man’s head.

A cold voice of the nurse, like a beetle.

She heard her, mom, who said, “Go away, you lunatic.”

A warning: Keep it a secret.

Biographical Note: Wenxin Tang is a nineteen-year-old poet, non-fiction writer, and dancer attending New York University Shanghai, Undergraduate Class of 2023. She majors in Humanities, with a double minor in creative writing and dance. She is a poetry editor at Bright Lines Confluences and her poems have been featured in several magazines.