Translation of a poem by Yen Ai-lin.
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Friday, Tuesday, and Sunday
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“Let me dig a well in your maternal soil.”
It’s Friday. A poet at a construction site said so.
He earns fifty bucks a day.
When he leaves
3 and 1/2 days of life’s recompense lie beside the pillow.
*
A missionary walks in,
his blond hair wavy as Jesus’.
“I thought none of you could come……”
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He says amen
and holy, holy, holy, holy Mother Mary.
“Remember to come to church on the Lord’s Day and pray.”
He gives money.
And mercy.
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Sunday. Nothing to do.
I stop in the Western Department Store and buy a bottle of perfume called “Poison.”
There are people at the contsruction site shouting.
A dark cloud sinks down not far before me.
A trickle, a flood of red rain.
Ah! It’s the remnants of Friday’s death throes
already quietly laid out as the final cross.
*
Today, isn’t a day? of prayer? is it?
It suddenly occurs to me
I should go to church and confess to the missionary.
*
**
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星期五、禮拜二以及星期日
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「讓我在妳母性的土地上鑿井。」
這是星期五。一位建築工地詩人說的。
他一天工錢一仟六。
走的時候
枕邊躺著3又1/2天的生命酬庸。
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傳教士走了進來，
他的金髮像耶穌一般鬈。
「我以為你們都不會來的……」
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他說 阿門
以及聖、聖、聖、聖母瑪麗亞。
「禮拜天記得來教堂作禮拜。」
他給了錢。
和憐憫。
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星期天。無事可做。
到西區百貨買一隻叫「毒藥」的香水。
工地有人喊叫。
一朵烏雲降在前面不遠處，
灑落滂沱紅雨。
啊！是星期五殘留的抽搐
已靜靜躺成最後的十字架。
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今天，不是禮拜？的日子？嗎？
忽然想起
該去教堂向傳教士告解。