Writing the Seasons
I write spring —
not the sweet rain that nourishes all things.
I write the seed-buying list,
the football oval filling up,
your drowsy eyes
on the morning daylight saving ends —
sports day circled in red,
a reminder:
don’t dawdle,
catch up with time.
I write summer —
not lush woods and lotus ponds.
I write scorched brown hills,
roads shimmering with mirage,
small hands clutching the popsicle,
sticky chins,
golden sand and turquoise tides
buoying laughter that can’t keep its balance —
the suspension bridge on the Yarra —
swaying gently,
strolling slow.
I write autumn —
not the golden wind and jade dew.
I write cat hair on the couch,
chocolate eggs tucked in a drawer,
carrying woven orchard bags
to see the Dandenongs aflame with maples,
spent lavender spikes
falling into damp mulch —
goodbye, she says,
see you in high summer.
I write winter —
not the gleaming white.
I write the crackle of firewood,
the children’s cheeks flushed red,
breaking open the frozen garden soil
to wrap the lilly pilly in old clothes,
setting out the cheese fondue,
its bubbling, savoury warmth
unfolding across the tongue —
no need to endure in silence;
waiting will not fail us.
写四季
我写春，
不写润物甘霖。
我写买种子的清单，
足球场的人多起来，
冬令时结束的那个清晨
你朦胧的双眼——
运动会的日子被红笔圈起来，
提醒：
莫要蹉跎，赶上时光。
我写夏，
不写郁木荷塘。
我写枯黄的山野，
蒸出蜃楼的路面，
举着果冰的小手
和黏糊糊的嘴角，
金沙与碧浪
托着平衡不住的欢笑——
雅拉河上的吊桥
悠荡，
慢慢欣赏，慢慢摇。
我写秋，
不写金风玉露。
我写沙发上的猫毛，
抽屉里的巧克力蛋，
带着果园的编织袋
去看丹尼顿山脉的枫林尽染，
薰衣草开尽的花穗
跌落进微湿的覆土——
再见，她说，
为了明年盛夏的重逢。
我写冬，
不写白雪皑皑。
我写噼啪的柴火，
孩子红彤彤的脸庞，
剥开花园的冻土
给蒲桃盖上旧衣服，
支起奶酪火锅，
汩汩冒泡的香咸
在舌尖两侧展开——
无需隐忍，等待不会辜负。