Tag: Jacqueline Jules

Two Poems by Jacqueline Jules

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Dr. Tonkin’s Model of Grief

After I finish the five stages with Kubler-Ross
I try Tonkin’s model, depicted in graphic terms
as a gray circle gradually taking less
space in an expanding sphere.

I picture my grief inside a glass jar.
It stays the same size, while the jar
grows, becoming a vessel
larger than my loss.

A nicer image, I think,
than climbing steps
in a stadium until my grief is only
a tiny figure on the floor below.

I will always live in the house
where you took your last breath.

But since then, I’ve added rooms.
One has a picture window. Another
a cozy fireplace. A third where I
entertain friends you’ve never met.

And when I talk about you
in this bigger house, I know
I haven’t left you behind,
just given us both more space
to comfortably exist.

*

Idioms to Manage Worry

If I try to “let it go,” as is often advised,
I think of a leaf floating down a brook
or a dragonfly buzzing away—
something that leaves my sight,
never to return.

Not every grief can disappear.

Not every worry is light enough
to drift away.

But I can envision “letting it drop.”

Like a rucksack filled for a two-day hike,
slipped off my shoulders for the night.

Or a pocketful of stones
collected on a cloudy day at the beach
and emptied into the garden
where they will smother the weeds
for a week or two.

*

Jacqueline Jules (she/her) is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021) and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications including One Art, Amethyst Review, The Sunlight Press, and Gyroscope Review. Visit her online at www.jacquelinejules.com

Two Poems by Jacqueline Jules

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Maybe the Cherry Tree Remembers

My old neighbor texted me today,
with a photo of the blooming cherry
in my former front yard, thanking me
for the view from her window
I never knew she enjoyed.

Funny how I’d thought every trace
of our 26 years in that red brick house
had been loaded into the long white van,
lumbering out of the driveway
on a crisp November evening.

Certainly the staircase
we climbed every night to bed,
the stainless steel sink
where we washed our pink dishes,
the deck out back never used enough—
they don’t mourn our absence
as new owners move in
to paint and carpet over
any marks we left behind.

But maybe the cherry tree remembers
that afternoon almost three decades ago,
when a couple came out of a red brick house
to dig a hole for a scrawny sapling
whose branches now reach to the sky.

*

The Honeybee

I almost reacted. Almost
questioned how he could dare
complain about more pots to wash
when I cooked all afternoon.

Then I remembered the honeybee,
how it dies a gruesome death
when its stinger embeds
in human skin. The bee tears
a hole in its belly pulling out
the sac of venom.

A honeybee values peace.
It only stings when threatened,
not over something as petty
as who cooked and who cleaned up.

And certainly not when it could rest,
like I am right now, with feet up
on the couch, while my honey
loads the dishwasher
and scrubs every pot.

*

Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021) and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications including One Art, The Sunlight Press, Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Hospital Drive, and Imitation Fruit. Visit her online www.jacquelinejules.com

Contronym by Jacqueline Jules

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Contronym

As a noun, “rock” is a stationary stone.
As a verb, it unsettles or shakes.

“Trip” can be a journey or a stumble.

“Finished” could mean
completed or destroyed.

If a word can contradict itself,
it’s not so odd to pray.

To thank a Source of blessing
and not blame a Source of grief.

After all, the word “cleave,”
could be clinging or cutting.

“Sanction” is approval or boycott.

And prayer changes me,
not the world.

*

Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021) and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications including ONE ART, The Sunlight Press, Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Hospital Drive, and Imitation Fruit. Visit her online www.jacquelinejules.com

What’s Left Unspoken by Jacqueline Jules

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What’s Left Unspoken

Years ago, I sat with my father
on a varnished bench with iron arms,
watching him pull a frayed white hanky
from his breast pocket.

“You have your own life,” he said,
dabbing eyes the color of the stained
tile on the station floor.

“The way it should be.”

I patted his knee and picked up
the suitcase he was too frail to carry.

We walked to an empty platform
where a uniformed man helped him climb
three metal stairs and hobble aboard
a train headed west.

I promised myself to phone
and visit more often.

Today, I wave goodbye to my son
and his pregnant wife as they board
a crowded train headed east.

I hear my father’s brittle voice
as they wave from the window
mouthing promises
they cannot keep.

*

Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021) and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications including One Art, The Broome Review, Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Hospital Drive, and Imitation Fruit. Visit her online www.jacquelinejules.com

Two Poems by Jacqueline Jules

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Radioactivity

When I think of Marie Curie carrying
radioactive tubes in the cotton pockets
of her lab coat, admiring blue-green light
emanating from her desk drawer;
how all her research, even her cookbook,
must now be stored in a lead-lined box,
I am reminded that no one,
not even the most brilliant of minds
knows everything.

And it helps me to live
in a world where so many don’t see
the dangers I see; helps me believe
that one day we could learn
to recognize poison and take
the proper precautions.

*

The Wholeness of a Broken Heart

There is nothing more whole than a broken heart. –Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk

What is a whole heart?
One that remembers
how it feels
to be ripped apart.
One that can hear
another heart breaking.

A whole heart does not judge.
It forgives, knowing fear
and frustration rise faster
than reflection.

A whole heart
embraces what is,
without forgetting
what has been lost.

*

Jacqueline Jules is the author of three chapbooks including Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her work has appeared in over 100 publications including Lowestoft Chronicle, The Paterson Literary Review, Cider Press Review, Potomac Review, Inkwell, Hospital Drive, and Imitation Fruit. Visit her online at https://metaphoricaltruths.blogspot.com/