“把茎剪掉一寸以保持花朵常开”

Cut back the stems an inch to keep in bloom.

塞在花束中的

So instructs the florist’s note

花店的纸条如是写道

enclosed inside the flowers.

谁知道什么被切断，

Who knew what was cut

还可以重新复原，绿色的伤口闭合，

could heal again, the green wounds close,

会把自己缝在一起？

stitching themselves together?

这并不重要。那些鲜花，红的

It doesn’t matter. The flowers, red

和白的，将会开放些许时候，然后凋枯。

and white, will bloom awhile, then wither.

你坐在没有点灯的房间中看着

You sit in an unlit room and watch

花瓶穿过黑暗投射水晶的阴影。

the vase throw crystal shadows through the dark.

那些鲜花的颜色是多么可爱多么伤痛。

The flowers’ colors are so lovely they’re painful.

过了一个星期，你必须要将它们扔掉。

In a week, you’ll have to throw them out.

唯一的希望是你拿出剪刀，

It’s only hope that makes you take out scissors,

将每朵花分开和切断

separate each bloom and cut

你触摸到的尾端。你知道吗

where you last measured. Did you know

维纳斯在每次洗澡后

Venus was said to turn into a virgin

都会变回处女？她把这当成爱情

each time she bathed? She did it

的分段标记。真的，她真的这样。

as a mark of love. She did it

这只为了取悦她的情人。可能吧，

so as to please her lovers. Perhaps,

最终她被痛苦压倒，

overwhelmed by pain,

从此再不沐浴。这无所谓。还是感受那乐趣吧，

she eventually stopped bathing

感觉那绿色的小脏头儿被剪去，看那花茎

altogether. It doesn’t matter. It’s a pleasure

在你的刃下翻新。它们在这里

to feel the green nubs stripped, watch the stems

只因为它们的美丽。它们在你的水晶花瓶里

refresh under your blade. They’re here

燃烧。但那些花朵自身仍然只是虚妄，

because they’re beautiful. They glow

只是光线的折射，一两个星期，

inside your crystal vase. And yet

即被抛弃。

the flowers by themselves are nothing:

一天天，水线下降，那红的

only a refraction of color that,

那白的脑袋耷拉下来，花茎黢黑。

in a week or two, will be thrown out.

这无所谓。即使切开的花茎也能痊愈。

Day by day, the water lowers. The red-

但是如果它能痊愈，那曾经的痛又有什么意义？

and-white heads droop, blacken at the stems.

“有些事会地久天长”，花店的纸条上如是写道。快乐，

It doesn’t matter. Even cut stems heal.

一个神说。羞愧，另一个神说。

But what is the point of pain if it heals?

他们把这些花叫“维纳斯的脑袋”。

Some things should last forever, instructs

过一两个星期，你会丢掉这张纸条，

the florist’s note. Pleasure,

你必须要给花店打个电话。

says one god. Shame, says another.

带着同情，你会想他说什么。

Venus heads, they call these flowers.

他可能会说：“送花的人要对你示爱”。这不重要，

In a week or two, you’ll lose the note,

你已经不再沐浴。你独自

have to call the florist up.

坐在水晶花瓶前，花瓶的反射影像穿过黑暗

With sympathy, you’ll think he says.

把你撕成一片片。你看着

Perhaps: With love. It doesn’t matter.

花瓶里苍白的皮肤，凋枯。

You’ve stopped bathing. Alone,

你生出花瓣，一寸又一寸，

you sit before the crystal

红和白，旋覆着，在一起。

vase refracting you in pieces

through the dark. You watch

the pale skin bloom inside it, wither.

You petal, inch by inch.

You turn red and white together.