Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Kate Willens
My son whistles when what goes on inside him moves faster than what happens outside and so the body throws out exclamations of frustration designed as flutey tones. Tones the world is full of. For all silence is marked and broken by human exclamation. Marks to say "happy," "bold," "now," "go," "I've done it!" But to say the opposite— to plume the interior is there a sign? And so he throws out one: "Hurry, world! I invite you in! Dust me off! Mind me now!" or "If I am not fast enough to meet what is coming from the outside, I throw a rhythmic pattern of sounds as if to say, ‘I know I lag behind, but I'm coming.'" Perhaps each star is a punctuation marking the empty void. Darts flung to decorate the night, and the whistling my son does is the same. Only in this world we can't move fast enough to see the sounds we make.
Kate Willens, Sebastopol, California
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