by JL Jacobs | Apr 8, 2020 | Poetry
Bad Weather and All I could have lived in Sisters or moved to the isle of Lesbos — nectar and ambrosia — but I didn’t choose where I stayed near the stork nest, Bad weather and all. Schizophrenia will not stop me nor walking on ice or pennies I...
by JL Jacobs | Apr 1, 2020 | Poetry
Mother, I said Mother, I said, I’m a one note character my fibers are inchoate I have but a single, primitive dimension, and it’s in arrest nothing is cultivated but the loss of the familiar the essence of things that have since died under the march of...
by JL Jacobs | Mar 26, 2020 | Short Fiction
Cutting The grass grows so fast with all the rain. Seemingly depthless pools sit inside hollow trunks. It is early Saturday morning, and the mower, in some way elementary, roars, wets leaves, and allows a feeling another kind of quietness. What remains is an innate...
by JL Jacobs | Mar 16, 2020 | Short Fiction
Freshly Baked Bread “Happy birthday, Mom!” Carol’s sing-song voice came through Mom’s kitchen speaker phone. “Oh, Carol, I’m glad it’s you, honey. I was going to call you tonight because I wanted to tell you that Dad and I have a present for you.” “But, Mom, It’s your...
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...
