Someone once said to me, Secrets are only quiet songs.
Since I started believing this, we are surrounded by music.
Since I started whispering, we are always close to song.
Leaning into you, my body learns the long lines of your back.
When my lips linger on your neck, I learn what it means to long.
My mother used to say to me, Memories are more than remembering.
This means more to me now— now that I’ve memorized
so many of your words, now that I can discriminate
between the mentioning of love and really meaning it.
Michele Heather Pollock is a poet and mixed media/book artist whose work has appeared most recently in Water~Stone and Dos Passos Review. She is the author of two award-winning chapbooks of poetry, Regarding Memory and A Clean Escape Into Something Else. She lives in Inver Grove Heights, MN.
