别忘了——纪念我的姥娘左宝英

 

 

文/崔浩新

 

你忘了，夜色中那条僻静的小路要问候食品厂漆黑的大门；

你忘了，岔路劈开北方更衰微的村庄，村庄与悬铃木后的这片红楼生死一线；

你忘了，看不见的木屐像陈姥娘的耳语在楼里窸窣作响；

你忘了，合作社里的玉堂酱瓜，一毛钱的念想曾在静脉里吱呀轧过破碎的故乡；

你忘了，母鹰伸展开闪闪发亮的翅膀，扑向幽寂神圣的大地……

 

一个同样灰如梦魇的午后，

台风潜入伤口，未愈合的。

依旧沿着那条水路，悲伤死去多年，

半梦半醒间再度涌上记忆。

云团低垂，

如羽翼拂过废弃的闸口和沉寂的大寺。

十五年了，一首诗能否点燃此际的浑沌，

照亮你最初的笑容。

 

 

 

Don’t Forget — In Memory of My Maternal Grandmother, Zuo Baoying

 

Written by Cui Haoxin

 

You forgot, how that quiet path in the nightfall was to greet the food factory’s pitch-black gate;

You forgot, how the fork in the road split the remoter, withering villages of the North, villages hanging between life and death with these red buildings behind the plane trees;

You forgot, how the unseen wooden clogs, like Great-Aunt Chen’s whispers, rustled inside the building;

You forgot, how the Yutang pickled cucumbers in the co-op, a one-cent longing, once creaked through the veins, crushing the homeland;

You forgot, how the mother eagle spread her gleaming wings, plunging toward the silent, sacred earth...

 

An afternoon equally gray as a nightmare,

The typhoon slipped into the wound, the unhealed one.

Still along that same waterway, sadness having died for years, Surged back into memory, half-asleep and half-awake.

Clouds hung low, Like wings brushing past the abandoned sluice gate and the silent Grand Mosque.

Fifteen years now, can a poem ignite the chaos of this moment,

To illuminate your primal smile.