Francesca Tomasi received her B.A. from the University of Chicago in 2015 and currently does tuberculosis research.
Farewell to the God of Plague
July 1, 1958
So many blue streams and green Hills, but to what avail?
This tiny worm defied even the greatest physicians!
Hundreds of villages choked with weeds. Men wasted away;
Thousands of homes deserted, spirits chanted mournfully.
Merely sitting here, daily I travel eighty thousand li a day,
Surveying the sky I see a myriad of Milky Ways from afar.
Should the Herdboy star ask tidings of the God of Plague,
I’d reply, “His joy is gone as our sorrows.”
The spring wind blows amid profuse willow wands,
Six hundred million in this land all like saintly sires.
Crimson rain swirls in waves
Green mountains turn to bridges at our wish.
Gleaming pick axes fall on all of China from the Five Ridges to the Yellow and Lo rivers; Mighty arms pound the rock to earth.
We ask the God of Plague: “Where are you bound?"
Paper boats lit by candles illuminate the sky taking the Demon God away. Source