饥饿
樱桃, 好像要绽开,
黑黑的血色,一口一口
吞下。
你和你的情人
互相喂。
父亲的黑影
撞在门上,分裂开,
在我这里埋起来。
我抹上你的化妆品,
穿着16岁生日的裙子。
吃了那些樱桃我们都病了,
饥饿在我们的血液里巡环,
拆掉了它的颜色。
如同你, 母亲,
拆掉了我生日裙子上的锋线:
“你是个好女孩,但是
不美丽。“
我把你话里的字扯开,
拼起来, 又扯开,
再拼起来, 像玩字谜。
每个字都是一只母虎,
或一个棋盘上的卒子,
直到最后,变成了
一个宠物。
我知道你也有一个宠物, 母亲:
是不是你腹部上
那个伤疤?
Hunger
Cherries, about to
burst—black, bloody mouthfuls.
You and your lover
fed each other. Daddy’s
shadow fell on the door,
split, buried
in me. I wore your makeup,
in my 16th birthday dress.
The cherries made us
all sick. The hunger rode
in our blood, undid
its color. As you,
mother, undid the seam
of my dress. You are
a good girl,
but not pretty.
I tore
those words apart, played
scramble games—each letter
a tigress,
a pawn, and finally
a pet. I knew you had one, too, mother—
was it the scar
on your belly?