On Whistling

there are those of us that whistle---
we do so by forming our lips as if we 
all spoke french for a day,
blowing air out into the world,
somehow singing a non-verbal tune in the process---
we pick whatever tunes we like and we
hum them, in
whistle form,
when we awake, while we walk, when we work, when we
play & sometimes when we are feeling 
most silly, excited & dare one even say
gleeful---
some of us whistle inward,
that is,
we suck air into ourselves and somehow find a way to
manufacture tones in the
process---
there are less of us who whistle this way, i believe,
as the cartoon impression of the whistler & its
adult contemporary image is always one of the
outwardly
melodic
blower---
regardless of the way in which you whistle,
whether you use your tongue & your lips together,
your teeth, your hands craftily maneuvered in such a way as to
funnel out your best personal horn section,
resonate with helmholtz as a human who
translates the song of others into your
own,
filtering them out into the air for others to catch like
butterflies,
so that they may flutter within,
before being released out into the wild
again.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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