And what of me
as whales sing to each other
in the deep, secret sea?

Sound travels
through miles of water
to finally reach rock,

shivers up strata,
resonates through basalt,
limestone, sandstone, siltstone, shale . . .

If I should sleep,
my ear to the pillow on the bed
whose legs touch the floor
resting on a foundation
sunk into stone
near the deep ocean’s swell,

will I hear the whales?
Will whispers of their singing
stir hammer, anvil, and stirrup,
make the tiny hairs
in the sea of my cochlea
ripple like kelp?

Will I smile in my sleep,
awaken refreshed
by good dreams?

Even now,
mammalian kindred
sweeten my life
with warm-blooded song.

Sheryl Slocum lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she teaches English as a second language at Alverno College. The mother of three grown children, she loves family, friends, good food, and (hard to find) quiet. Sheryl is a member of the Hartford Avenue Poets and the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets.