Epitaphs at Qianxi Temple
Iris C.
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I wrote this poem as a tribute to my grandfather. The last time I saw him, he told me stories about life during the Japanese occupation of Luoyang in 1944. His village fled to the Longmen Grottoes, where they set up a makeshift garden, a makeshift school. What irony: bloodshed right outside this ancient artifact of art and humanity. What hope: children sitting together on a prayer-mat, tracing their first characters in the dirt.
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Creativity is witnessing the commonplace in the world around us and describing it in new ways. To me, it’s is a form of love: living each day with authenticity, intention, and care.
