Julie "Jules" Jacob's poems are featured or forthcoming in Plume, Watershed Review, Yes Poetry, Rust + Moth, The Tishman Review and elsewhere. Her poetry has been paired with artwork and transformed into pictographs at the Colorado Gallery of the Arts and Le Moulin à Nef. She's the author of The Glass Sponge and a resident of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts Poetry Workshop. Jules advocates for abused and neglected children for the Thirty-First Judicial Circuit of Missouri and is an Emeritus Master Gardener for the University of Missouri Extension.
The female is, as it were, a mutilated male,
and the catamenia are semen, only not pure;
for there is only one thing they have not
in them, the principle of soul.
— Aristotle
Principals in my hand:
A piece of chalk snow-colored insect
from a cut zinnia, slip of Chinese paper —
"you discover treasures where others see
nothing unusual," cell phone showing
search results for fluffy white pretty bug.
If you knew shoulders were helium
and hydrogen the universe expanding
white-hot starlight deemed the color
Cosmic Latte, would you believe
stellar events were aitions for the
faithful — your four causes of nature
matters between heaven and the land?
I draw a line through Sherman Alexie's
advice to love the liars in this world
or live alone under Today's Menu
on the kitchen chalkboard write
"Fairy fly and wooly aphid same
creature. Family: Aphidadae."