Sichuan Earthquake – Picking up the pieces

The following photos appeared on The Straits Times Thursday 13th November 2008.

The photos from Reuters accompany two articles from Associated Press (AP) and Agence France-Presse (AFP), titled “First Step for Sichuan – jobs” and “Rebuilding a town brick by painful brick”, that took a whole page.

The photo above is from Reuters and the caption reads: “On the six-month anniversary of the Sichuan quake, mourners grieved for their loved ones in front of a monument at the Donghekou Earthquake Site Park in Qingchuan yesterday.”

The above two photos are from Reuters and the caption reads: “Quake Survivor Li Mingcui is one of many people in Sichuan trying to deal with the aftermath of The catastrophe. On May 19, she was rescued (above) from the rubble of a collapsed market in Beichuan. But she lost her husband and granddaughter to the disaster, and yesterday burnt offerings (top) to mourn them.”

It was the last photo that got to me. Looking into Li Mingcui’s eyes, one can see fear and strength. Later that night, I could not sleep and typed something out. It’s been through a few edits. I’m not really happy with it, but I think if I tweaked it anymore, it’ll become too manipulated.

She was born in ’62
Her name was a label on a bag of rice
She went to school ’til her father died
Worked at a factory the gov’ment promised
She married the man she knew all her life
She had a child
Thank god it was a boy

So like this
She went on

Everyone like her
Never asking for much
Living ordinarily

She expected
Her child would grow
Marry the woman he grew up with

But as she ran from the falling factory walls
Her husband fell through the cracks
Her precious boy crushed ‘neath his school

The day was marked in history books
Twelfth May Two thousand and eight
In the afternoon at two twenty eight

Her child would not grow old
Nor marry the woman he grew up with

So now she cries with dry tears
And through the smell of incense
And paper ash that blackens the skies
She prays Everyone like her
For time to return
To ordinary.

And this is why I’m not a poet. Haha!