王瑞媛

–TRANSLATED BY NATHANIEL J. GAN, ILLUSTRATION BY LI SI

Crabapple Blossoms

In spring, you don’t have to talk to the crabapple;let the rain do the talking.

White blossoms, like corners of drowsy eyes,gaze skyward.

Strange icy droplets,your fingers spread wide beneath the tree.

At the branchtips, condensing and falling,is the rain’s incessant reply.

While with your umbrella, you open many questions.

They can’t be answered;you don’t understand that a flower doesn’t wilt

from disappointment,but naturally, furled by the wind.Still, you immerse yourself in asking.

Springtime is misleading,

and you can’t restrain your doubts.

If a dream is just a dream,then what’s lost remains lost.

You don’t have to talk to the crabapple anymore;the rain will do the talking.

As you return your umbrella this afternoon,what ought to fall, has already fallen,what is yet to emerge, is not yet emergent.

Born in 1982, Wang is a lecturer at Hebei University of Science & Technology teaching drama, film history, and film analysis. She has a master’s degree from Beijing Film Academy, and is a member of the Chinese Theater Literature Association. She writes poetry, fiction, screenplays, as well as film criticism. Her work has appeared in Poem Selection magazine, Popular Music magazine, and other publications.

海棠

在春天，你不必與海棠說話，

讓雨水去說。

白色的海棠，似惺忪的眼角，

望向空中

陌生而冰冷的水滴

樹底下張開指頭的你。

在枝頭，凝結并且墜落的，

是雨水持續地回答，

而你有一把傘，打開了

諸多疑問。

解答不了，

你不懂一朵花的衰敗，

并不出自失望，

它自然而然，讓風卷住。

你只是兀自沉浸其中。

春天難免讓人誤會，

你不能克制地提出疑慮。

如果一個夢就像一個夢，

失去的是否尚在失去之中。

你不必再與海棠說話，

雨水會說。

你歸還雨具的這個下午，

該落下的，已經落了，

未生發的，尚不自發。