by JL Jacobs | Sep 30, 2019 | Short Fiction
Moonlight at Saint Helena Park There is a big moon tonight and I have no rest. They sleep below gathered coats and I sit and watch and wait. And I wish it were dark and black and blind and I could not see; and I’d imagine another place, another me. ‘Would you have the...
by JL Jacobs | Sep 27, 2019 | Short Fiction
CRISPR-Cas9 “We’re such a primitive species, really. Aren’t we?” he said, licking his underarm hair. It was long and silky and red. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, distracted. She was depressing each spot on the baby with her thumb. Last month, the...
by JL Jacobs | Sep 25, 2019 | Poetry
Ohio Drinking red wine in a peeling canoe, land-bound, by the drained swimming pool. The leaves watched as we turned to run. Our plan was to break the glass, take the fancy heirloom. You talked me down with a shy glance. Later, we huddled in the flooded basement,...
by JL Jacobs | Sep 23, 2019 | Art
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by JL Jacobs | Sep 20, 2019 | Poetry
THE WAY OF ALL : AN ABECEDARIAN April is not about you, grasshopper. Bear your soul in a month more claustrophobic, when you’re shut up, defeated by weeks of winter skies— egg-colored—not Easter-egg-colored. Fires in bleak pre-dawn hearths glow from the...
