我想，当我二十岁时，当我达到五十岁时，
我就不会受爱的悲欢离合的影响，
现在我五十岁了，在室内，剥着一棵甜菜根的皮，
我是手指似乎血淋淋的，我看着外面我成年的女儿
她背对着我，她可能变成我，关于一些她的肩膀
如何向前倾的事情。
多年之前，那就是我们争论的事情
非常激烈，我穿过密歇根大道大桥，
白色安静的瑞格里大厦在我们身后，
但我们不能放手，不能离开，我们
抱怨着穿过人流。即使现在我也能感觉到
我的变长的脊梁，方正的肩膀，
一点残暴让我变得无情。我剥完了甜菜根
倾身靠近纱门，仿佛要听听
你和她是怎样意见相左的，你怎么解决的。
I thought, when I was twenty, that when I turned
fifty, I'd be immune to love's vicissitudes,
and here I am at fifty, indoors, peeling the skin
of a beet, my fingers bloody seeming, and I'm
watching you outside with our grown daughter,
her back's to me, she could be me, something
about how she leans forward from her shoulders.
All those years ago, what was it we argued about
so fiercely I crossed the Michigan Avenue bridge,
the Wrigley Building white and tranquil behind us,
but we couldn't let it go, couldn't walk away, we
hollered across the traffic. Even now I can feel
my spine lengthen, my shoulders square back,
a little ferocity hardening me. I finish the beets
and lean toward the screen, as if to hear what you
and she say to one another, how you work it out.
"Untitled" by Athena Kildegaard from Cloves & Honey. © Nodin Press, 2012. Reprinted with permissio
