I speak Whistle, he said over the phone, sounding
smaller than I remembered before our separation.
Say something in whistle, I asked.
A whistle trilled my ear,
like a monarch butterfly
flying thousands of miles,
an impossible journey,
but arriving in Mexico intact
That means, Hi, he said.
The monarch’s eye-lash legs
landed on my outstretched hand,
fluttered its whistling wings, then
I miss you, I said.
I love you, I added.
He blew four short bursts.
Whistle words flew to my ears.
Fluttering into my heart.
Then he spoke:
That means, I love you more.
When Kara Thom is not writing about motherhood, she’s writing as a freelancer and author of children’s books, including the Go! Go! Sports Girl book series.
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April 10, 2018 at 3:58 am
Beautiful poem, Kara, so full of magic and
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