【自诗自译】家务 / 卢文丽

对面树叶起伏。

不是风动，不是树动，是心在动。

白色床单，被太阳光一照，

亮得耀眼；有如落雪天，

往外观察到的气象。

持拖把的我，那一刻怔忪驻足：

想起寒潮将至的日子，

我停好车，透过红叶石楠

看到市区赶来的父亲，

用旧毛巾把裸露的花园水龙头

捆扎得严严实实。

像一种稳固的支撑，

一门即将上战场的小钢炮。

郊外。白茫茫一片，远山遁入天际。

傍晚，我推开栅栏，朝隔壁那团

暖黄色的灯光走去。

脚印新鲜，被路灯温暖着。

蔬菜们安静覆着雪，只露出一圈绿意。

窗口飘出母亲炒菜的香气。

2026.8.16

Chores

Across the way, leaves rise and fall.

It is not the wind stirring, nor the trees swaying, but the heart in motion.

The white bed sheet, bathed in sunlight,

glows blindingly bright; like the scene one beholdson a snow-falling day.

Holding the mop, I stand transfixed at that moment:

I recall the days when a cold snap was drawing near.

Car parked, through the photinia fraseri

I see my father, down from the city,

wrapping an old towel tight around the exposed garden tap

layer upon layer, no gap left bare.

It is like a steady source of support,

a small steel cannon about to march into battle.

Out in the suburbs. All lies blanketed in white, distant mountains fade into the horizon.

At dusk, I push open the fence gate and walk toward that warm yellow glow next door.

Fresh footprints lie there, warmed by the streetlamp.

Vegetables lie quiet beneath snow, only a ring of green pushing through.

From the window drifts the aroma of my mother stir-frying food.

August 16, 2026