At bedtime, my grandson’s breath

在该睡觉的时间，我小孙子的呼吸，

rasps in and out of fragile lungs.

像往复的锉刀，

Holding the nebulizer mask

被脆弱的肺挤进挤出。

over his nose and mouth,

在他的口鼻上，

I rock him on my lap and hum

戴着雾化器喷头。

a lullaby to comfort him.

我把他放在膝头轻摇，

哼摇篮曲

The nebulizer hisses as steroids

希望他的痛少些。

stream into his struggling chest,

and suddenly he also starts to hum,

雾化器嘶嘶叫着，

his infant voice rising and falling

将类固醇注入他挣扎的胸膛。

on the same few notes—some hymn

他突然也开始哼唱，

he must have learned while in the womb

婴儿的声音起起落落，

or carried here from where he was before—

虽然只有几个音符——这旋律

a kind of plainsong, holy and hypnotic

他在子宫里应当已经熟识，

in the dark.

或者来自他更早的本源——

这神圣的让人入眠的素歌，

在那黑暗中响起。