邮差
THE MAILMAN
It is midnight.
He comes up the walk
and knocks at the door.
I rush to et him.
He stands there weeping,
shaking a letter at me.
He tells me it contains
terrible personal news.
He falls to his knees.
"Forgive me! Forgive me!" he pleads.
I ask him inside.
He wipes his eyes.
His dark blue suit
is like an inkstain
on my crimson couch.
Helpless, nervous, small,
he curls up like a ball
and sleeps while I compose
more letters to myself
in the same vein:
"You shall live
by inflicting pain.
You shall forgive."
那是午夜。
他从人行道上走来
敲响了门。
我冲过去欢迎他。
他站在那儿哭泣,
向我挥动一封信。
他告诉我那里面装着
私人的坏消息。
他屈膝跪了下来。
“原谅我!原谅我!”他恳求道。
我请他进屋。
他擦着泪眼。
他那暗蓝制服
像块墨水污渍
在我深红的`睡椅上。
无助,不安,渺小,
他蜷起身子像个球
睡着了,与此同时
我以同样的笔触
为自己编织更多的书信:
“你要活下去
靠着制造痛苦。
你要宽恕。”
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