你说悲伤没有舌头，

You said grief has no tongue,

但我曾听见它花开的声音。

but I’ve heard it bloom.

在你吸气的间隙，

In the pause between your inhale

以及你轻唤我名字的方式里——

and the way you whisper my name

像某种正在枯萎的事物。

like something wilting.

我将每一种隐痛如种子般含在口中——

I carry every ache like seeds in my mouth―

柔软得足以吞咽，

soft enough to swallow,

苦涩得足以扎根。

bitter enough to root.

女人就是这样成为了花园，

This is how women become gardens

在那些没人预料会有生命的地方。

where no one expected to find life.