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{y} changming yuan You love ‘Y’, not because it’s the first letter In your family name, but because it’s like A horn, which the water buffalo in your Native village uses to fight against injustice Or, because it’s like a twig, where a crow Can come down to perch, a cicada can sing Towards the setting sun as loud as it wants to More important, it's like a real reed deeply rooted At the bank of the Nile, something you can bend Into a whistle or hit a drum with; in pronouncing it You can get all the answers you need, besides You can make it into a heart-felt catapult And shoot at a snakehead or sparrow, as long As it is within the range of your boyhood |
