工蜂

它的一生

是减法。

王浆腺萎缩，

无法再哺育未来；

蜡腺干涸，

丧失修筑宫殿的权力。

甚至，连腿上的绒毛

也一根根脱落，

再也抱不住花粉，酿不出蜜。

直至，

垂暮

积攒的一生。

它颤颤巍巍飞出，

沦为新蜜源的探路犬；

或将带钩的毒刺

扎进敌人，

归寂于战场。

寒风里，

巢穴最外层脱落的尸体

筑起最后的挡风墙。

这让我想

那些消失在加拿大太平洋铁路上的华工——

也这般，留下累累白骨，同枕木

铺垫一根根铁轨。

Worker Bee

Its life

is a process of subtraction.

The royal jelly glands atrophy,

no longer able to nurture the future;

The wax glands dry up,

forfeiting the right to build palaces.

Even the fine hairs upon its legs

fall away, one by one,

unable to clasp pollen anymore, unable to brew honey.

Until nothing remains,

but a life in its twilight

and the accumulated wisdom of a lifetime.

Trembling, it flies out,

reduced to a scout-hound for new nectar sources;

Or driving its barbed sting

deep into the enemy,

sinking into the silence of the battlefield.

In the biting wind,

the sloughed-off corpses on the nest's outermost layer

build the final windbreak.

This brings to my mind

the Chinese laborers who vanished along the Canadian Pacific Railway—

In much the same way, leaving behind heaps of white bones,

to cushion every single rail, alongside the railroad ties.