《我自杀之后的早上 》 梅吉·罗耶

我自杀之后的早上
梅吉·罗耶

我自杀之后的早上，我恋爱了。我爱的不是街上的某个男孩或者中学校长，不是每天慢跑的那个人，或者把牛油果留在袋子外面的杂货商。我爱上了我的妈妈，她坐在我房间的地板上，把我收藏的岩石握在手里，直到汗水让它们变成深色。我爱上了我的爸爸，他在河边把我以前写的字条装进瓶子，然后让它们随着水流飘走。我爱上了我的弟弟，他以前相信独角兽真实存在，但他现在坐在学校的课桌前，拼命让自己相信我还活着。

我自杀之后的早上，我跟着狗狗去散步。她看见一只鸟就使劲儿摇尾巴，看见一只猫就冲过去。她找到一根棍子，转身想让我跟她一起玩。当她朝我往常所在的方向望去，却只看到一片天空，我看到了她空落落的眼神。陌生人抚摸它的鼻子，她就低下头，跟我以前摸她的时候一样。

我自杀之后的早上，我去了以前邻居家的院子。两岁的时候我在水泥地上留下过脚印，我想看看它们磨损成了什么样子。我摘了几朵花，拔了几棵草，透过窗户里看见那个老太太从报纸上读到我的死讯。我看见她老伴往厨房水池里吐烟草，把她每天的药拿给她。

我自杀之后的早上，我注视着太阳升起。每一棵染成橘色的树像手掌一样舒展，街上一个孩子指着一片落单的小红云，让他的妈妈看。

我自杀之后的早上，我去停尸房找到自己的尸体，想对她说教一番。我给她讲那些牛油果、踏脚石、河流，还有她的父母。我给她讲日落、狗狗的事，还有沙滩。

我自杀之后的早上，我努力地想让自己变回去，但我做不到。
（The End）

The Morning After I Killed Myself 

Meggie Royer 

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed. 

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine. 

 The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication. 

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother. 

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach. 

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

作者脸书https://www.facebook.com/MeggieRoyerPoetry/

P.S. 作者是个94年的小姐姐