Saturday, May 7, 2011

The Whistle

The Whistle
By Kathy Mangan

You could whistle me home from anywhere
in the neighborhood; avenues away,
I’d pick out your clear, alternating pair
of notes, the signal to quit my child’s play
and run back to our house for supper,
or a Saturday trip to the hardware store.
Unthrottled, wavering in the upper
reaches, your trilled summons traveled farther
than our few blocks. I’ve learned too, how your heart’s
radius extends, though its beat
has stopped. Still, some days a sudden fear darts
through me, whether it’s my own city street
I hurry across, or at a corner in an unknown
town: the high, vacant air arrests me—where’s home?


Christina said...

I admire how the poet has captured the untethered, panicky feeling all of us, if we live long enough, sometimes feel. One by one, those connections with loved ones fall away, their physical presence leaves, and we are left with remembering their love and home. I like the idea of the heart's reach- the radius extends even after death.

Jackie said...

Well written. I was able to visualize every line.


Mom to a very active teenager who doubles as a bright right-brained learner.