小三
小时候，我在头上
穿着黑裙，假装留长头发。
我边抚黑裙，边说：
“妈妈，我长大后想嫁给你。”
妈妈哈哈大笑，回答：
“不行。我已经嫁给你爸。”
”那又怎样？”
“我们不能在一起。”
长大了。
头发果然留长了。
结婚了。
我和老公一周一次
约爸妈吃顿饭。
现在，每当老公出差，
妈劝我回娘家,
在我老房间的
单人床上度夜。
虽然 搭巴士过去
非常麻烦，我总是
听从她的要求。
凌晨, 我 起床后，悄悄
出门，以免吵醒她。
长大了。
头发果然留长了。
结婚了。如今，
即使当年的黑裙不见了，
即使没嫁给妈，
即使没实现童年梦想，
至少我跟妈的行为
类似于
彼此的小三。
As a child,
I wore a skirt on my head,
and pretended I had long hair.
I stroked the skirt and said,
“Mama, when I grow up, I want to marry you.”
Ma laughed and answered,
“I’m married to your father.”
“So?”
“So we can’t be together.”
I’ve grown up.
And grown my hair long.
And married. Once a week, my husband and I
sit down for a meal with my parents.
These days, whenever he’s on a work trip,
Ma asks me to come home
and spend the night
in my old room’s single bed.
Although it is inconvenient
for me to ride the bus
for a sleepover,
I obey her every time.
At dawn, I tiptoe out the door,
so as not to wake her.
I’ve grown up.
And grown my hair long.
And married.
Although I lost that black skirt,
although I never married Ma,
although I never fulfilled my childhood dream,
at least Ma and I
treat each other
like mistresses.
Teh Su Ching
(pictured: Elements: Roof, courtesy Venice Architecture Biennale, opening on June 7, 2014)
– – –
Slow Words asked Olivia Lee to choose a poet of her country (and coming from her generation) to form our Weekly poem section to be published together with her interview. Teh Su Ching is a writer, screenwriter, journalist and actor: she writes poetry only for private purposes. She did not start sharing her poems on a public platform until April this year, when a group of Singaporean writers on Facebook organised “Singapore Poetry Writing Month” (SingPoWriMo).