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...
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...
