「保護好妳的手，」母親說，
“Save your hands,” my mother says,
當她看到我用力擰開一個罐頭蓋——
seeing me untwist a jar’s tight cap—
就像她從前一再告訴我
just the way she used to tell me
別讓男孩子得逞，不許他們
not to let boys fool around, or feel
碰我的胸：「要把它們保留到
my breasts: “keep them fresh
新婚之夜」，彷彿它們是一對
for marriage,” as if they were a pair
貨真價實的水果。我諷刺地想像
of actual fruit. I scoffed
它們有朝一日會淤青，擦傷，
to think they could bruise, scuff,
變軟，腐爛，枯萎。於是我低頭
soften, rot, wither. I look down now
看向我關節粗壯的大拇指，我的食指
at my knuckly thumbs, my index finger
久久彎曲著，與她的如出一轍
permanently askew in the same classic
像一個鉤子，美其名曰天鵝頸，
crook as hers, called a swan’s neck,
好似從中間折斷，不言而喻。
as if snapped, it’s that pronounced.
每當我打字，總忍不住懷疑
Even as I type, wondering how long
我還能堅持多久——我左手的每個關節
I’ll be able to—each joint in my left hand
都盡力抬起，戳弄著，找到位置，
needing to be hoisted, prodded, into place,
指節如同錶盤上喀噠走動的指針
one knuckle like a clock’s dial clicking
伸直，彎曲，再放鬆。
as it’s turned to open, bend or unbend.
我儘量迴避我們可能過度使用
I balk at the idea that we can overuse
自己的想法，我們理應分配並調試
ourselves, must parcel out and pace
精力，以便不至於在活著時
our energies so as not to run out of any
耗光必需的成分——
necessary component while still alive—
「必需」的定義必然
the definition of “necessary” necessarily
隨時間變易。
suffering change over time.
唯一確定的是不確定性，我以爲
The only certainty is uncertainty, I thought
我懂，我無視了一切
I knew, so ignored whatever she said
她關於男孩和性的說詞：她的故事
about boys and sex: her version of
不同於我的版本。我不禁發笑
a story never mine. It made me laugh,
對於她締造的傳統，說什麼我們
the way she made up traditions, that we
直到適合年齡方能與男孩親吻，我們
didn’t kiss boys until a certain age, we
沒有鬼混。我們誰是？我的哪部分
didn’t fool around. What we? What part of me
是她？定然不在我的手指所及。
was she? No part I could put my finger on.
但是多麼不尋常啊，有一天，她在房間裡
How odd, then, one day, to find her
打著瞌睡，先是自言自語
half-napping in her room, talking first
然後對我說起她曾經認識的
to herself and then to me, about a boy
一個男孩，她朋友的哥哥，
she used to know, her friend’s brother,
她吻了他，她說，僅僅因爲
who she kissed, she said, just because
他希望如此。「我爲什麼會那樣做呢？」
he wanted her to. “Now why would I do that,”
她兀自沉思，心煩意亂，重新
she mused, distraught anew and so freshly
被她的自我背叛所刺痛。我的手
stung by the self-betrayal, I reached across
越過父親留下的版圖，抵達
the gulf my father left, to her side
他們牀上她那一邊，撫摸在我未來的手上。
of their bed and stroked my future hand.