by JL Jacobs | Mar 2, 2020 | Short Fiction
On Becoming French Okies “French” invokes Paris, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, fine cuisine and wine. But there are other places where “French” has fostered for centuries. With name like “Boudreau” and my wife, Dorothy, maiden name being “Cottreau” and both...
by JL Jacobs | Feb 26, 2020 | Poetry
Strawberry I wish I was dead so I could go to Heaven because at Sunday School they say that Jesus died for my sins, and I sin, but when I die I’ll live forever and I can’t do that here, on Earth I mean, so my only choice for life is death so if I can live...
by JL Jacobs | Feb 24, 2020 | Poetry
Rooster and Hog Crossing The squall blew sideways screaming in from Hollow Point, Hawaii. The undulating waves slammed along the coffee cliffs of igneous rock jig-sawing along the sandy beach. The jet-engine surf churned and the west wind ironed the water into...
by JL Jacobs | Feb 19, 2020 | Poetry
DRY DOCK Luciano sits at the bar—he always sits at the bar—watching over his crew like a ship’s captain. The bartender, Ian, has already placed a glass of Chianti at his right hand. Tonight, from his wheelhouse, Luciano sips his red wine as he watches the cooks in the...
by JL Jacobs | Feb 17, 2020 | Poetry
CRACKED Dawn over Coventry Lake. Canada Geese, visions of silence, float in a small window of open water. In my mind I step out onto the ice, trying to match their quiet stoicism. Instead I break through, and begin to sink. The thermocline, shockingly...
