棍棒奶奶被棍棒绊倒的日子,她六十三岁,我七岁,加起来正好七十。奶奶跌得沉重,腿摔断了,从此跛着一条腿走路。棍棒是我头天晚上,舞刀弄枪时留下的,堂屋灯光灰暗,我的假想敌是暗淡的灯光和一抹抹被激起的尘土,奶奶在纺棉车前,拽出长长的纱线,她在为一家老少准备过冬御寒的衣服、被褥,偶尔抬起头看看我,看看我舞动的棍棒。我是她的长头孙子,棍棒是从爷爷插在黄泥田边长大的柳树上砍下的,酒盅般粗细泛着 She was sixty-three years old, seven years old, and together I was seventy. Grandma fell heavy, broken legs, and from the lame one leg to walk. Sticks were the night before I left the dance with my gun and the darkness of the dwelling houses was dim. My imaginary enemy was dim lights and a touch of dust that had been aroused. Grandma pulled a long yarn in front of the cotton spinning machine, She was preparing for the winter and winter clothes, bedding, and occasionally looked up at me to see my dancing sticks. I am her long-grandson, sticks are cut from the willow grandfather grew up in the side of the yellow muddy field, wine cup thick glowing