Sleeping Swans
I pause by the water to stare
at white feathered bodies
floating so peacefully limp
they appear to be dead.
How can swans sleep
with their heads tucked
beneath their wings?
Another question I can’t answer
as I amble along a path
winding past boats on one side
and cruising cars on the other.
The day is dense with clouds
consuming the light I need
to see what lies ahead.
How long will the sky remain
overcast without pouring rain?
I don’t even know if my legs
will last another mile.
I could trip or get a cramp,
anything could happen
between now and the time
I reach my favorite bench
to view the missing horizon.
Just like my beloved could fall
again or have another fever
in the house where he waits for me,
too frail to join my walks.
When he drifts off during the day,
I watch him like these swans, afraid
his awkward slouch means
he will not wake from his chair.
*
I’ll Be There Now
“Are you afraid of lice?” my son asks,
informing me he just treated the kids
he needs me to babysit.
Am I? Afraid of bugs a shampoo can kill
after three years of dodging an airborne virus
which shut down the world for months on end?
Keeping six feet apart was sensible once.
Until isolation became an ingrained habit.
At the height of it, I asked for
backwards hugs, avoiding droplets
from little noses and mouths
So now that they’re back in school,
kissing hair, not cheeks is risky too.
I’m at an age when the muscle that pumps
my blood could fail with less warning
than a sore throat progressing to a cough.
How long can I wait to embrace the life
I stayed alone in my house to protect?
“Don’t worry,” I tell my son.
“I’ll be there as planned at 6.”
*
Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021), Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press, and Smoke at the Pentagon: Poems to Remember (Bushel & Peck, 2023). Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications. jacquelinejules.com
Both poems are beautifully written.