Departure Carolyn Forche We take it with us, the cry of a train slicing a field leaving its stiff suture, a distant tenderness as when rails slip behind us and our windows touch the field, where it seems the dead are awake and so reach for each other. Your hand cups the light of a match to your mouths in their hands like this to know what is left of them. Between us, a tissue of smoke, a bundle of belongings, luggage that will seem to float beside us, the currency we will change and change again. Here is the name of a friend who will take you in, the papers of a men who vanished, the one you will become when the man you have been disappears. I am the woman whose photpgragh you will not recognize, whose face emptied your eyes, whose eyes were brief, like the smallest of cities we slipped through. 这首诗是我期中报告的题目之一， 越读越欣赏，所以就把它放上来和大家分享分享一下感动的心情。 我喜欢作者对於爱情的态度和想法， 以及空间上的移动融合了人生的聚散离合。 我写报告写到疯了，讲的话完全没条理了啦啦啦。 --

※ 发信站: 批踢踢实业坊(ptt.cc) ◆ From: 134.208.35.28