Key West

By Luchang Zhu

On a bleak winter afternoon,
I sat alone in a Panda Express in Illinois.
A fortune cookie whispered:
“You will cross mountains and oceans
and find your way to warmth.”
So I flew to Key West—
the balmy Conch Republic,
where time moves slow as amber honey.
Morning found me—
sunlight sifting through mist,
softening into golden silk.
A drunk slept against a coral wall.
A rooster balanced on a salt-bleached roof.
Heading down the beach with my camera,
searching for what is worth keeping—
a seagull crossed the sky,
its shadow brushing the sand.
Gone before the shutter could click,
yet staying with me for years.

Luchang Zhu is a microbiologist living in Iowa. Originally from China, he recently began writing poetry in his second language to explore the intersections of science, memory, and the search for meaning and belonging