键盘上的配偶

（对亲密关系的恐惧）

我们睡房里寂静，

我们在分开的桌前坐着，

给对方发送冗长

而后稀疏的电子邮件。

到了最后，邮件只以一个问题

作结：我能给你咖啡、茶、一吻，

或是别的什么？

我们的屏幕发光哼鸣

只因走廊里残留了

过多内存

我们聒噪婚姻的开始。

我们将这身体

印入屏幕的空白

好似印入白雪，

赋形出坠落的天使

千万兆字节大小

使最强力的系统崩溃。

“幸存的任何东西都是蓝色

如同断头台之眼。”¹

任何说话的物体，

桌子，椅子，烟灰缸和地板，

把彼此溺毙

向我们过去亲密关系

借来的不过是形体。

1 出自Adam Zagajewski《全民公投》。

Spouses at Keyboards

(fear of intimacy)

Silent in our bedroom,

we sit at separate desks,

and send each other lengthy,

then sparse emails.

In the end, only closings

with a question: Can I get you

coffee, tea, a kiss,

or anything?

Our monitors glow and hum

from the excess memory

of what’s left in the hallway:

our noisy marital beginnings.

We imprint our bodies

into the screen’s whiteness

as in snow,

create fallen angels

a million gigabytes’ worth and

crash the most powerful computer.

“Whatever survives will be blue

as a guillotine’s eye.” ¹

Whatever speaks,

desks, chairs, ashtrays and floors,

drowns one another,

borrows only the shape of

our past intimacy.

1 From Adam Zagajewski’s poem Referendum.

与泰迪熊同眠

（对重访童年的恐惧）

三十四岁的我

还与泰迪熊同眠

昨天，我在一个口袋里摸索

我有段长毛绒时期的生活

在袋里挤躺了好些年

那晚我几乎哭了一夜当我发现——

其中一只熊的鼻子没了

只剩一支黑色大头针

轻轻地，我用镊子把它拔出来

在上面缝了个小小的软钮扣，还找到一张小毯子

那天夜里，我看了

几部短纪录片

说的是十九世纪以来的长毛绒泰迪熊

还有那些伦敦的特殊医院

为毛熊们扫尘

重填内里

我瞥看我的一只小熊，瘦弱憔悴

它的头往肩下缩：我清空了它

肚子里面三十年的旧破布

充填以从壁橱里翻出的

丰胸胸罩的填料

我用掉烧水壶里一半的水

洗着三只小熊：

黑沉沉的肥皂泡

让我难过

把它们没入水中

我想把一根吸管

插进它们口鼻之中让它们呼吸

当他们与胸罩衬垫的残余

浸透的碎木屑一同浮出水面

我幡然领悟

它们通过我的肺部来呼吸

晾干它们之后，我们静静地

睡着了，比旧情人们

还更平静

在一个亲密的，永恒的拥抱中

带着单色调的阴影

在我们头顶

一枚看不见的别针绕圈

考虑着先缝合

我们中的哪个

Sleeping with Teddy Bears

(fear of revisiting childhood)

At thirty-four

I still sleep with teddy bears

Yesterday, I rummaged through a bag

where a plush period of my life

lay huddled for years

I cried almost through the night when I found—

one of them had a black pin

where its nose used to be

I pulled it out, gently, with tweezers,

sowed a soft little button on it, found a little blanket

Late into the night, I watched

short documentaries

about plush teddy bears from the 19th century

and the special London hospitals

where they were dusted off

and re-stuffed

I look over at one of mine, emaciated

its head slung against its shoulder: I emptied out

its stomach worth thirty years of old rags,

I stuffed it with padding

from a push-up bra taken from my closet

I used up half the water from the boiler

washing three teddies:

the black soapsuds

saddened me

Submerging them

I wanted to insert a straw

into their muzzles so they could breathe

When they resurfaced

along with the remains of bra pads

and sodden sawdust it dawned on me

they breathe through my lungs

After drying them, we fell asleep

quietly, more peacefully

than old lovers

in an intimate, perpetual embrace

of monochrome shades

Over our heads

an invisible pin circled

wondering which one of us

to sew up first.

♫