This was once a love poem,

曾经，这是一首情诗，

before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short,

在它腰臀变粗、呼吸短促之前，

before it found itself sitting,

在它发现自己

perplexed and a little embarrassed,

困惑又有些尴尬地

on the fender of a parked car,

坐在停下的汽车挡泥板上之前，

while many people passed by without turning their heads.

而有很多人头也不回地走过。

It remembers itself dressing as if for agreat engagement.

它记得自己装扮一新，像要参加盛大的订婚礼。

It remembers choosing these shoes,

它记得挑来捡去，

this scarf or tie.

鞋子，围巾或领带。

Once, it drank beer for breakfast,

有一次，它以啤酒当早餐，

drifted its feet

把脚放在河里，

in a river side by side with the feet of another.

与另一双脚并排漂浮着。

Once it pretended shyness, then grew trulyshy,

有一次它假装害羞，然后就真的害羞了，

dropping its head so the hair would fall forward,

头低了下来，头发从面前落下，

so the eyes would not be seen.

于是别人就看不到它的眼睛。

It spoke with passion of history, of art.

它绕有激情地讲起历史、艺术。

It was lovely then, this poem.

那时，这首诗甚是可爱。

Under its chin, no fold of skin softened.

它下巴下的皮肤，没有松塌塌的皱褶。

Behind the knees, no pad of yellow fat.

膝盖后面，没有发黄的脂肪垫。

What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall.

朝闻道，夕犹信也。

An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows, its cheeks.

坚实的自信扬起它的眉毛、脸颊。

The longing has not diminished.

渴望并没有减缓。

Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat,

但它仍然理解。该考虑养一只猫，

the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus.

或者培育非洲紫罗兰或开花的仙人掌。

Yes, it decides:

于是，它做出决定：

Many miniature cacti, in blue and red painted pots.

在红蓝彩绘的花盆中多多栽培微型仙人掌。

When it finds itself disquieted

当它意识到新生命纯粹而陌生的沉默

by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life,

令它心神不宁，

it will touch them—one, then another—

它便会伸出一根小火焰似的手指

with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame.

抚摸它们，一棵一棵摸遍。