父亲节 /诗/Anna惠子

父亲节

诗/Anna惠子

一天你撕布条缠手

我凑近细看——那裂痕如新垦的田垄

血迹蜿蜒成沟渠

尚幼的我，还不会表达感情

但心里，狂风抽树枝喊不出的痛

你总是在天未亮出门

用锄头镰刀敲响泥土的浊音

天黑的路上

你的身影挑着一家人的生计

除夕的傍晚

我就早早站在路口

盼你早点收工

唯有一年，你未让我在寒风中悬望

可你凝视我狼吞虎咽时，筷子始终未动

母亲夹起一块鸡肉放入你碗中

你摆手说“胃疼”，却将温情藏进皱纹

那些堆积的记忆

是照见我前路的明镜

我默默做事，任风雨割裂肌肤

无论受到怎样伤害

从未停止

因我是你的女儿

血脉里总刻着你他倔强

2025年6月15日

.

Father's Day

By Anna Keiko Xianglian

One day, you tore cloth strips to bind your hands

I leaned close—the cracks like newly tilled furrows

Bloodstains winding into canals

As a child, I could not yet voice my feelings

But inside, a storm lashed branches, a pain unspoken

You always left before dawn

Your hoe and sickle striking the earth’s dull thud

On the darkened road

Your shadow carried the stars, the moon, and our family’s bread

On New Year’s Eve, as dusk fell

I stood early at the roadside

Longing for your return from work

Only once did you spare me from waiting in the cold wind

But as you watched me devour my meal, your chopsticks stayed still

Mother placed a piece of chicken in your bowl

You waved it away, saying, “My stomach aches,” yet hid tenderness in your wrinkles

Those accumulated memories

Are mirrors reflecting the path I tread

I work silently, let the storm lash my skin

No matter the wounds I endure

I never halt

For I am your daughter

In my veins, your stubbornness is etched

June 15, 2025