White Apples

By Donald Hall

When my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door
white apples and the taste of stone
if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes


白苹果

唐纳德 · 霍尔


父亲去世一周后
我被他的声音
惊醒
我从床上坐起来
屏住呼吸
盯着那扇紧闭的浅白色门
白苹果和石头的味道
如果父亲再叫我
我会穿上外套和套鞋

自己踢一脚