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Grass of the Central Plains

Ivan Yi-fan Hu · 2024.6.19

After wildfire comes fire

after flood comes water

the god sends down prophecies in the shape of runes

scattered carvings on a tortoise shell cracked open by red earth

but no one claims this revelation

so green locusts are granted poison

they gather at the summons

brown-black horsemen draw up their ranks

the altar has fallen the priests have fled

punished in people's stead is

the grass of the Central Plains

after people cut wheat break maize and thresh soybeans

the last remaining grass of the Central Plains

the contest unsettled there is nothing for it

grass grows grass

without end without exhaustion

it's awkward to hear

as the people run back

the ritual music they hum

because your name is there

but not your roots

what would remain even if the world were gone

is absent only from ritual music

only you know your allotted fate

because you are the image on the tortoise shell

but you may only grasp it

you may not speak

you may not weep and plead

you may not divulge heaven's secrets

god and people together extend a finger

wagging it they solemnly warn you

when for the first time you spring up

and cut that finger

blood an offering to the red earth

the tortoise shell shatters in an instant

images and numbers mutate

No more bullshit! Watch heaven and earth turn upside down

the altar has fallen the priests have fled

you remain where you are

grass of the Central Plains

grass grows grass

without end without exhaustion

after wildfire comes fire

after flood comes water

Written at the old library at three in the afternoon, 19 June 2024, moved by the news, nearly in tears

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