父亲,我父亲
我相信每一日的行走,都是深入泥土,风沙,
当触及腰身,我看见十字,停在大地当中。
这令我惊讶,泥土是银行,风沙是银行,
我把生命作为定期存进去,取走稻米,蕨类,
和一大早的鸣叫。父亲取走一大早的扁担,
那是一个旋转的十字,从上面看从下面看,
从左右两边看,它都在担当着什么,晃悠悠的,
从不走形。当他睡下,有一次,我拿上扁担,
横放在他肚脐眼的上面,又是一个十字。
我猜测父亲不知道,但我错了,父亲一醒来,
双手自然而然拿着它,显明那晃悠悠的十字。
这里面的变化我不懂,父亲明明挑起的是
井水和稻谷,怎么变成了生活、责任和爱?
当母亲把捣衣槌横放在父亲的换洗衣上,
我看见同样的十字,我偷偷看母亲的脸色,
是一个池塘大小的宁静。在夜色中,
母亲由南而北从对门山的菜地回家,
与踏着曙光的父亲不同,父亲从村西头走到东头,
开始一天的劳动。我站在屋前地坪的中间,
位于这个由脚步和小径组成的十字路口,
我徘徊,我相信每一日的行走是沿着父亲的目光,
沿着母亲的目光,通向明天一大早,
通向三公里以外的地方。当我迷途,我回来,
把那扁担,捣衣槌,随意放在什么地方,
甚至摆成一个十字,我会怔怔地望着,低下头。
想着腰身以上的不安和爱。
Dad, My Dad
I believe, my every step deep in the soil, and the dust,
when I raise my back, seeing a cross suspended upon the earth.
It make me surprise that, the soil is a bank, the dust is a bank,
I saving my life in the form of time deposit, withdraw the rice,
the fern,
and the twitterings of morning. But my dad drew out his carrying
pole of the morning,
which look like a twirling cross, either in top or bottom views,
in left or right views, and always undertaking something, in
swaying,
but never out of its shape. Once when he had slept, I took up the
pole,
laid across upon his navel, another cross again.
I supposed dad don't know, but I was wrong, and then my dad woke
up,
and held it instinctively in both hands, demonstrating the swaying
cross.
I wondered what of changings happen within, what my dad carrying
were evidently
the water and the grain, but how could them turned into life, duty
and love?
When my mom laid her washing mallet across my dad's laundry,
I saw the same cross again, and I glanced the countenance of my
mom,
a peacefulnesss in size of the pool. In the gloaming,
my mom home from the field across the opposite hill, from south to
north,
converse with my dad, who walked out by the twilight, from the
west end of village to the east,
and began a whole day's work. I stand at the threshing ground
before my home,
just at a crossroads of the step tracks and the rugged path,
in wandering, I believe my every step along down the gaze of my
dad,
and of my mom, reach to the morning of tomorrow,
to some site three kilometers away. While I lost, I would come
back,
taking the carrying pole, and the washing mallet, place randomly
at some where,
or even set as a cross, I would watch attentively, with a bowed
head,
thought of the ache upon my back, and the love.
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