八月清晨
人土土译
熟了,水槽旁的
瓜。黄色的、
被蜜蜂咬过的、软软的
这款香味对房子来说太甜蜜。
我于五点醒来,空气
在它自己的沉默中默哀。
妻子的眼在眼皮下
安静游动,她的嘴和下巴
是放松的,与往日不同的。
在这所房子的寂静中
发生了什么?窗帘
沉重地从杆上垂下。
榕叶随我的脚步
颤抖。然而
窗外色彩完美——
橙的天竺葵、蓝的半边莲。
我在房子里逛来逛去,
像个逛博物馆的人:
妻子、孩子、书、花、
瓜。空气如此的静。很快
早晨的风会飘进来
像股温水,然后滚烫。
即不知生命如何走到这一步的我
也不知在这股温暖与香甜中该如何走下去的我,
该如何开启这一天?
August Morning
BY ALBERT GARCIA
It’s ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife’s eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect--
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
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