Rea Brian - The wing reader: an illustrated poem

To Dad.
Who wouldnt let me stop believing.
And Kelly,
and Mimi.
You are all so loved. Text copyright 2018 by Brooke Smith.
Illustrations copyright 2018 by Brian Rea.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. ISBN 9781452161815 (epub, mobi) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Smith, Brooke, 1961- author. | Rea, Brian, illustrator.
Title: The wing reader : an illustrated poem / by Brooke Smith ; illustrated by Brian Rea.
Description: San Francisco : Chronicle Books, [2018]
Identifiers: LCCN 2017004674 | ISBN 9781452158761 (alk. paper)
Classification: LCC PS3619.M55386 W56 2018 | DDC 811/.6dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017004674 Design by Jennifer Tolo Pirce Chronicle books and gifts are available at special quantity discounts to corporations, professional associations, literacy programs, and other organizations.

For details and discount information, please contact our premiums department at or at 1-800-759-0190. Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, California 94107
www.chroniclebooks.com

Tall grasses, brilliant, bending soft breeze she fell to her knees. Too tired to walk too far to recover, to look or search anymore. (what can you see when you let yourself be?) She sat still. Watched as a butterfly landed on a reed jutting over her head. Markings, of purple and turquoise and gold. On the wings were faint lines curved, bent and crooked. On the wings were faint lines curved, bent and crooked.

They looked like letters. And then, became words. She read each one quickly. (they could all disappear) Without pausing. Not pausing out of fear. BLUESKYGOODBYE Wait.

Words are not cannot be written on wings. (no one would believe her) Impossible. Not possible. Look away. But words are just letters and letters are just lines. Lines and shapes that have meaning.

Maybe words have always been flying above but no one has seen them or been in awe of. Mix seeing and believing. (one broken heart chose to believe) Alchemy done. Story spun. To remember Love. A boy ran intohis uncles arms, like hed done sincehe was five. Lifted up, lifted high. Pretending, he could fly. The boy loved to kiss the ceiling. (loved to kiss the SKY)Up among the cloudsendless BLUE, where they never had to sayGOODBYE. Story told moment captured the butterfly flew away. Story told moment captured the butterfly flew away.

Make no mistake, these were not her words. So beautiful she could never claim them. A sacred moment told through her, not by her. Deep love was what she could see. Then another landed on her hand. (look closely) PHOEBESINGSSUNDAY And she began... Her grandmothers namewas PHOEBE. Named after a tiny bird. Every SUNDAY she wentto her grandmothers house, a place of only kind words. (safekeeping)Her grandmotherwould tell her, that every timea phoebe SINGS, she should close her eyes and listenAnd youll see me, in the trees. That one flew away, and another beckoned. (safekeeping)Her grandmotherwould tell her, that every timea phoebe SINGS, she should close her eyes and listenAnd youll see me, in the trees. That one flew away, and another beckoned.

Soothing words arrived (look inside) RAINWATERSILENCE And she began... The RAIN camecascading down, as shesat on a curbwhile it poured. Her bare feet restedin the cold, running WATER. She could not be ignored. (spellbound)He walked overand asked herif everything was alright. Then from far off, another fluttered. Then from far off, another fluttered.

Soft landing, tender words. TEARSVELVETSUNLIGHT She came to write. (remember)