德里克·谢菲尔德的两首诗

圣海伦火山

我们一个’re Spiraling Into

When Mount St. Helens blew 
              that May day in the last millennium, 
my father steered us through ash falling like snow, 
              wipers ticking past another empty car. 
Where did they go? And here I am, 

              driving a mute blast of sunlight
with friends, asphalt and what’s left
              of the woods, something like flagpoles
bristling on something like Ground Zero
              even as we begin to see

a gritty soil. Where smoke once curled 
              from chimneys, a glistening rain 
of spiders led to lark and elk, swallow 
              and salamander. No more cabins 
or dinner bells, but so much lupine 

              you’d swear volcanoes exult in violet. 
Even this pumice crunching under every step 
              won’t sink. So much life, 
we say, hiking back to the car. Cheryl hopes
              for a Dairy Queen, and Simmons clicks

through a thousand photos as we coast 
              the curves toward sea level, tired bodies
swaying together in time. Across the lake
              to our left, a thousand trunks 
still float like sticks in a game. 

              Then the future comes up, the one 
we’re spiraling into, and JP says, 
              Sure as shit wouldn’t bring kids into this
world, in a way that chills my groin. 
              And Elizabeth observes, a stone

in her lap the size of a skull, 
              This is young enough to be my child.

最初出现在 阿拉斯加季评.

巢穴

柳树捕蝇器圣海伦斯山

在她热气腾腾的圆顶下，
a nest of dead stems

杯两个孵化器，瞎晃
在外壳中。连路

他们的柳树摇摇欲坠
融雪不能使它们

不太可能，sc肿的面包屑
计划释放他们的飞行和缝线

我们的空气，这片灰色的土地
焦灼成生。如果有目标

他们的轻声细语
的呼吸，寻找它

在充满生命的皮肤紧闭双眼中，
以儿童保持睡眠的方式

只要她能拔罐手电筒
为她的手流血的光芒。

最初出现在 荒野.