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，你不必与海棠说话，

让雨水去说。

白色的海棠，似惺忪的眼角，

望向空中

陌生而冰冷的水滴

树底下张开指头的你。

在枝头，凝结并且坠落的，

是雨水持续地回答，

而你有一把伞，打开了

诸多疑问。

解答不了，

你不懂一朵花的衰败，

并不出自失望，

它自然而然，让风卷住。

你只是兀自沉浸其中。

春天难免让人误会，

你不能克制地提出疑虑。

如果一个梦就像一个梦，

失去的是否尚在失去之中。

你不必再与海棠说话，

雨水会说。

你归还雨具的这个下午，

该落下的，已经落了，

未生发的，尚不自发。