What was more desired than a whistle?
I was young and fascinated with the whistle.
The deafening sound that came from your mouth.
They weren’t birds, but they can whistle as the wind!
Whistling, whistling
I was fascinated, looking at my brothers whistling.

How can I whistle? My question came.
My brother teaching me, while my father screaming at me.
You are a girl! Girls don’t whistle!
Then my father whistles.
It is unfair or is it just me?
A girl who couldn’t whistle.

It’s the day for a wild whistle competition.

My brothers line up to see who had the best whistle.
Like a hurricane, like a tornado,
Like a bird, like the soft wind
My brothers whistle.

I look up at them while my whistle goes from my mouth to inside my brain
I couldn’t produce the perfect whistle.
That was a shame!
I can’t whistle

The time goes by
And I still am trying to whistle
It is so deep the whistle in me.
It’s a pity
I can’t whistle.

“I have been writing since I was a teenager, I like to write about my life experiences. This poem was inspired after I recalled a memory of my childhood and the thousand times I have tried to whistle.
I have been taking writing classes at UNH English Literacy Institute.
I’m a native Spanish speaker, and a Spanish teacher at WHS in Hampton, NH since 2008. I have taught theater in Medellin, Colombia. I previously coordinated a children’s reading program at the Juan Zuleta Ferrer Library in Medellin (sede Campo Valdes).” – Chiqui Jimenez

Sandra Reynolds

Sandra Reynolds

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Sandra earned her B.A. in English. She works part-time as a freelance writer and proofreader. Sandra was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in NYC with her fiance and their adorable pug.
Sandra Reynolds