The Oldest Animal Writes a Letter Home
To That Mutter and That Fodder:
You never sended byrds unless nuffing is the byrds you sended which was not the byrds I meant. Even if The One wif the Tooths who is alpso called The CollekTorah brings them in The Jar. Those is not the byrds I meant. Or if I was fastly awake under the grandfodder tree when One Turrible Water falled from the wooly Skyys. Those is not the byrds I meant. And neever is the parsnips, although One of the parsnip has a littlest feather on the tops of its heads. That parsnip is maded out of Magiks I obey. I thinks I loveth that parsnip, but nones of it is those byrds I meant. At last I invented some idears if That Mutter and That Fodder is wonderling how: CollekT the byrds auf the roof and outs of the attic and swore to thems out lord that thy Oldest Animal shall be thy Witness Forevermores and At Last. And if it is scayred said Onto That Byrd “The Oldest Animal is scayred too.” And if it shaketh in thy Flaysh said Onto That Byrd “The Oldest Animal shaketh in thy Flaysh too.” And if it is a lostling if that soarless parsnip will never loveth back said Onto That Byrd “The Oldest Animal is a lostling too.”
I maded myselfs a prayer against forgetting me. I rasp it out lord wif one hoofs in the ayr, and one hoofs on my hearts. It says its wyrds like this: Something Beautiful Is Going to Happen, Something Beautiful Is Going to Happen, Something Beautiful Is Going to Happen.
Sincerply,
The Oldest Animal (sighted in contents) |
The Oldest Animal Writes a Letter Home
To That Mutter and That Fodder:
Once I looks up and That Mutter and That Fodder is floating bye in the green baskyt helded ups by the Strings of the Allmightiest Heavens, and what I would not giveth to be alpso in that baskyt isn’t even my bones because I would. Seventh bones to be exactly. Once I looks up and That Mutter and That Fodder is floating bye in the green baskyt, and they is laffing, and they is laffing, and I is wif my hoofs maketh so much rakeus and so much boohaha, and I is like “I is Done Be Low!!!. Why does that baskyt float away? Where is the byrds? Once I looks up and That Mutter and That Fodder is floating bye in the green baskyt, and That Fodder is feedling That Mutter the most beautiful pancake the whirld has ever seeped. Why does That Mutter and That Fodder not look done where I exists and giveth me a bite? Once I looks up and That Mutter and That Fodder is floating bye in the green baskyt helded ups by the Strings of the Allmightiest Heavens, and what I would not giveth to be alpso in that baskyt isn’t even my hopes to be in that baskyt. Here. Taketh my hopes. Except for the byrds, and the pancake. Taketh my hopes so that I (The Oldest Animal) can float in the green baskyt wif That Mutter and That Fodder and seeps the whirld like That Mutter who is alpso called Be Trice, and That Fodder who is alpso called Double You Be seeps the whirld. Ups Ups and All Ways. I maded you a droaring auf me in the baskyt. The One wif the Tooths gave me the brushes and the green.
Sincerply,
The Oldest Animal (sighted in contents) |
The Oldest Animal Writes a Letter Home
To That Mutter and That Fodder:
What ayls me? Maybe a revolupshun is in my hearts and my hearts is loosing? Send bayonets. Let the bayonets be the kyndness that shall foughts to keeps me here. How good are bayonets at foughting? The CollekTorah sayeth “Very, very good.” I am scayred. If my hearts loose is that my End or is that my Enter Mission? Alpso I am wonderling how many moufrasps is between an ayl and an end? Eleventh? That is so lyttle. Alpso I am wonderling how my hearts could loose if my hearts beliefs in so muchly? For instance, byrds. For instance, That Mutter. For instance, byrds again. Why is it feeling inside my firs like I (The Oldest Animal) is abouts to leave this Foryst for the Uver Foryst? Send one plain ambeless. Maybe wif a sirens to scayr the loose away. I am not ready. Remember that nights when That Mutter wored around my necks a scarf and letted me outs because auf that rule? Who belongs to that rule? The marmalades? The marmalades sayeth “No, it is the herrings.” And the herrings sayeth “No, it is the marmalades.” Whoever is beholdens to that rule shall driveth that ambeless with bayonets in its hoofs. Those isn’t even my wyrds. Those is the wyrds of the bibble. That is how I know I isn’t alone. The bibble was thinksing auf me when it got wrotted. The bibble alpso thinkses auf who is begat and who is slew. That is how all the begats and the slews is alpso not alone. That maketh me a lyttle hapsy. I herd in the Uver Foryst there is a Mutter who would never wore around my necks a scarf and letted me outs because auf that rule. I herd That Mutter is alpso called Abegill. I herd her hayr is yellow. I isn’t ready for her yellow hayr.
Sincerply,
The Oldest Animal (sighted in contents) |
The Oldest Animal Writes a Letter Home
To That Mutter and That Fodder:
There is sheeps here. I would never have guesselled. There is alpso grapefruit skins and whistles for dressling up. Sometimes there are boats coming with more of us. In the beginning I hidded. In the beginning I lookyd around for her yellow hayr because I knewed. My hearts loosed, and I knewed. The bayonets stopped foughting, and I knewed, and now forever’’’s the amount of byrds it tooketh me to get here. I play a game wif the sheeps. It is a counting game that adds ups all the diffrynces and all the sames between the Foryst and the Uver Foryst.
Diffrynces: In the Uver Foryst all of us is sometimes a tree, or PoLand, or nuffing, or one green baskyt, or so many uver things. Even if I want to be the One wif the Tooths for one whole day I am allOwed. Even if I want to be the sheeps. Sames: Where is That Mutter and That Fodder? Sames: I was never ready for neever. Diffrynces: In the Uver Foryst I looks out and seeps That Mutter’’’s witfur coat perched on the bow of the boat when it sails hencefroth with more of us. Maybe it is not impossibled the arms wave gloryisplea in the wynds for me? I ask the sheeps. The sheeps say everything is not impossibled. I knowed those arms is not That Mutter’’’s arms. I clopse my eyes and pretend.
Sincerply,
The Oldest Animal (sighted in contents)  |
Sabrina Orah Mark’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in American Letters and Commentary, American Poet, Denver Quarterly, Gulf Coast, The Indiana Review, Jubilat, Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century and Best American Poetry 2007, among others. She has received fellowships from the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, the Glenn Schaeffer Foundation, and The National Endowment for the Arts. Her first book of poems, The Babies, won the 2004 Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize. Her second book, Tsim Tsum, is forthcoming from Saturnalia in October, 2009. She teaches literature and creative writing at Agnes Scott College and the University of Georgia, where she is a Park Fellow.
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