Be Here First
Ellen Doré Watson

I don't know my trees but I know my trees.
Their angling for（谋取） what has spurned¹（唾弃，冷落） them;
their spitting and drooling（流口水） , the battered²（破旧的，磨损的）

crocuses（番红花） at their feet. We share the roofline,
the cesspool（污水坑，粪坑） , I'm responsible for all that salt.
From my stone stoop（弯腰，屈背） I watch the lilac's sun-

starved horizontal heroics（夸张的言行） , the still-naked
redbud shrugging off（摆脱，抖去） bitty unlit lights.
Neglect leans back on the lawn chair.

Must we dislike ourselves to change?
Sick of every other part of me, I approve
my hand slobbered（流口水） by the horse's jawing³

a hacked⁴（生气） apple. I say fear is behind our
everything. Or brazenness⁵（厚颜无耻） , which is just
a jacket fear puts on. The mare's sudden

stillness says look: fox. The world as ever
offering now distraction⁶, now danger.
But no. How much I owe the trees, the hissing⁷（蔑视，嘶嘶声）

raccoon（浣熊） outsmarting my heart. The shed
moving towards ruin in its own slow time.
There's something sprouting⁸（发芽） on the kitchen

table that's not supposed to. Everything
eager, rude and alive. Not just the knotweed（紫菀科植物）
but the crows' hideous⁹（可怕的，丑恶的） vowels¹⁰; buds blasted

open or whipped（鞭打，挥动） young off the tree. Take your
pick: the ridge¹¹ hurtling（急飞，猛掷） for the last rag of snow
or simply lifting off with the first smack¹² of（带有……的味道） dawn.