要帮我拔出手掌上的小铁刺，

To pull the metal splinter from my palm

父亲轻声讲个故事。

my father recited a story in a low voice.

我看他耐看的脸，没看刀片。

I watched his lovely face and not the blade.

故事还没讲完，那根铁刺已经

Before the story ended, he’d removed

被他剔除，原本我还担心我会死。

the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.

I can’t remember the tale,

那故事我已经不记得，

but hear his voice still, a well

但他的嗓音我还能听见，那是一口

of dark water, a prayer.

蓄着黑水的井，一个祈祷。

And I recall his hands,

我回想着他的手：

two measures of tenderness

他量好的两份温情，

he laid against my face,

轻放在我脸上，

the flames of discipline

他上规矩的火焰，

he raised above my head.

举在我头上方。

Had you entered that afternoon

you would have thought you saw a man

如果你那个下午在场，

planting something in a boy’s palm,

你会以为你看到了一个男人

a silver tear, a tiny flame.

在一个男孩手掌里种东西，

Had you followed that boy

一颗银泪珠，一支小火苗。

you would have arrived here,

假如你跟着那男孩，

where I bend over my wife’s right hand.

你就会到达这里，

Look how I shave her thumbnail down

看到我在妻子右手上方俯着身。

so carefully she feels no pain.

Watch as I lift the splinter out.

看我怎么为她锉短拇指的指甲，

I was seven when my father

很小心，她一点也不痛。

took my hand like this,

看着我怎么把刺拉出来。

and I did not hold that shard

父亲那样抓住我的手，

between my fingers and think,

当时我七岁，

Metal that will bury me,

我没有把那一小片东西

christen it Little Assassin,

捏在手指间审思：

Ore Going Deep for My Heart.

"这是会埋葬我的铁刺"，

And I did not lift up my wound and cry,

我没赐予它"小刺客"的名，

Death visited here!

称为"扎入心底的铁"。

I did what a child does

我没有高举伤口哀号，

when he’s given something to keep.

"死神莅临此处！"

I kissed my father.

我的反应像每个孩子一样，

得到了一件值得保存的东西。

我亲了我父亲。