a wandering woman writes

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

All about a tin whistle, and good advice



It was the lack of a piano. I decided to pick up the Irish tin whistle that followed me home from Dublin all for the lack of a piano.

A tin whistle tries to teach me to live softly.

In.
I attack
Lips pursed
Arms taut
Eyes focused
Ambition engaged.
A reel walks across the page.

Out.
She fights
back, a sleek black
tunnel of iced
metal a shot-up
tube a hole ridden backpocket
pipe

In.
hard
and
fast

Out.
Screech
piercing shriek
of an orphaned tea
kettle the doubletoned hiss
of a referee’s
warning
STOP
STOP, something’s wrong

I sigh, discouraged.

Whistle coos.

Down here
Under your breath
It’s a whisper
of acceptance
an end of day sigh
a puff
a baritone cloud
a soft ceili breeze

In.
Shhhh
sings her bass string purr -

Softly.

Forget everything you’ve learned
Breathe

Out
And just stop trying.

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