When the bottle of hot sauce shattered in the kitchen

当热辣椒酱瓶在厨房摔碎时

he stood in the doorframe, shook his head at the mess.

他站在门口，对着这个灾难现场摇了摇头。

Not worried if I was injured,

他并不担心我受了伤，

mostly curious at what else it was I’d broken.

更多的是好奇我这次打碎了什么。

You are so clumsy with the things you hold,

“你拿东西的时候真是笨手笨脚”，

he never said.

这句话他从未说出口。

The red stain on my chest bloomed pungent,

我胸前的红色污渍喷发出刺鼻的气味，

soaked any apology.

浸透了所有的道歉。

I used his shirt, the one I slept in,

我用他的衬衫，我睡觉时穿的那件，

to wipe the counter and pale-colored kitchen floor.

擦拭着台面和苍白的厨房地板。

That night and the next for a straight week

那晚和接下来的一整个星期，

as he prepared boxes to leave

当他准备好箱子离开时，

I hunched and scrubbed the tiles. Couldn’t rid myself

我弯腰擦拭瓷砖。无法摆脱

of the things that I’d sullied, of the look he left behind.

我弄脏的东西，他留下的眼神。