Wednesday, March 19, 2014

A Brief, Silly Ode to the Letter "Ы"

As a small child, I softly touched branches.
I lifted breath from letters found on pages.
I discovered sounds missing from my throat:
the rustling of the leaves, the letter, ы.

If I were to draw a map formed of words,
the first country would be marked, thou--ты.
Мы--we--вы--you all--would comprise a continent.
It is plain to see--I cannot live without Ы.


(Inspired by this unbelievable article on Vladimir Zhirinovsky's temper tantrum regarding the letter, ы.)





Perhaps it has been too long since Zhirinovsky watched Crocodile Gena and Cheburashka.


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(for erin) when i ask, where have the redpolls gone, and why the silence at my seed station your eyes, unbidden twin candles startle ...

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