饑餓
櫻桃, 好像要綻開,
黑黑的血色,一口一口
吞下。
你和你的情人
互相喂。
父親的黑影
撞在門上,分裂開,
在我這裏埋起來。
我抹上你的化妝品,
穿著16歲生日的裙子。
吃了那些櫻桃我們都病了,
饑餓在我們的血液裏循環,
拆掉了它的顏色。
如同你, 母親,
拆掉了我生日裙子上的縫線:
“你是個好女孩,但是
不美麗。“
我把你話裏的字扯開,
拚起來, 又扯開,
再拚起來, 像玩字謎。
每個字都是一隻母虎,
或一個棋盤上的卒子,
直到最後,變成了
一個寵物。
我知道你也有一個寵物, 母親:
是不是你腹部上
那個傷疤?
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?