当热辣椒酱瓶在厨房摔碎时

When the bottle of hot sauce shattered in the kitchen

他站在门口，对着这个灾难现场摇了摇头。

he stood in the doorframe, shook his head at the mess.

他并不担心我受了伤，

Not worried if I was injured,

更多的是好奇我这次打碎了什么。

mostly curious at what else it was I’d broken.

“你拿东西的时候真是笨手笨脚”，

You are so clumsy with the things you hold,

这句话他从未说出口。

he never said.

我胸前的红色污渍喷发出刺鼻的气味，

The red stain on my chest bloomed pungent,

浸透了所有的道歉。

soaked any apology.

我用他的衬衫，我睡觉时穿的那件，

I used his shirt, the one I slept in,

擦拭着台面和苍白的厨房地板。

to wipe the counter and pale-colored kitchen floor.

那晚和接下来的一整个星期，

That night and the next for a straight week

当他准备好箱子离开时，

as he prepared boxes to leave

我弯腰擦拭瓷砖。无法摆脱

I hunched and scrubbed the tiles. Couldn’t rid myself

我弄脏的东西，他留下的眼神。

of the things that I’d sullied, of the look he left behind.