unlike x or y, which can be,
the online dictionary quiz implies,
so I rack my brain for words—
victor, va-va-voom, environment—

and then root around for the silent x—
well, faux pas, but that’s French.
Because I cannot conjure silent y words,
I hurl myself down the rabbit hole,

getting lost in online lists of words
with silent letters—and y is not
among them—remembering some
of my non-native English-speaking

students in years past
who delightfully pronounced
the b in lamb or the k in knife,
the l in salmon (which some native

English speakers do, too). And my
own embarrassment—as a freshman
in high school, so wanting to impress
the teacher who might allow me to

work on the newspaper, though
she usually only admitted juniors
and seniors—when, reading aloud
to the class, I mispronounced

horizon, prompting Mrs. Colón’s
eyebrow to arch and her to say,
Whore-a-zon?! and me to blush
because that’s how my mind said it

when I read it. And how, despite that
faux pas, she put me on the newspaper
staff, unknowingly catapulting me into
two careers—as a journalist and a

writing teacher, regularly reminded
to practice patience with those who
stumble over this confusing,
maddening, astonishing language.

(for Gerry Colón)