When I question the river, a chorus of invisible frogs chants where, where, where. When I let the river answer, she sets a baritone soloist in the tall still weeds beside me. There, there he insists, familial home, gliding trails of kayaks, siblings, father. Air, air, I plead. Waves slap against the concrete cobblestone boat path; wind breathes my will. Sings, I’m bending your way. Swallows dip in September light, droplets collect in my palm. Her hair shiny brown and wet to her knees, my mother backcasts and effortlessly cracks the whip before introducing her nymph to the water.
Jules Jacob is a contemporary poet who often writes about dichotomous conditions and relationships between humans and the natural world. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Plume Poetry 8, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Rust + Moth, Frogpond, and elsewhere. She’s the author of The Glass Sponge, with select poems featured at the Colorado Gallery of the Arts and the Virginia Center for the Creative Art’s Le Moulin à Nef in France. Visit julesjacob.com.