by JL Jacobs | Jan 20, 2020 | Fiction
Anna disappeared slowly and then all at once. A gradual slipping away, the sort of which that when her neighbors and friends finally noticed, they couldn’t say exactly when they had last seen her. It had started with her divorce from Smith — that was his...
by JL Jacobs | Jan 15, 2020 | Fiction
Underneath It All It’s November and I’m in the Costa Mesa Target perusing the wall of men’s underwear for my husband and son—Boxers? Jockeys? Gray? Blue? Plaid?—when a woman in her 40s, 50s, maybe older, approaches. She’s in loose jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. Her...
by JL Jacobs | Dec 23, 2019 | Short Fiction
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by JL Jacobs | Dec 20, 2019 | Short Fiction
The City Song of Lucy Brown Black tires rolling. Bus almost empty. Nobody much to mind my singing – just singing a little song. Singing a little steam song about sweet fish, white rice, Marcene’s pineapple sauce. Just singing my song – don’t pay any mind,...
by JL Jacobs | Oct 7, 2019 | Short Fiction
So Good, All of You –Like the dirt around me, we love you. McBride/Thikbot You always remind me, plurally, of music. I hear. However. Cannot express. And of. A. Beautiful sadness. Some odd error of dusk. That is. The same. To me. Like. An assistant. Of Sorts....
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...
