by JL Jacobs | Jun 17, 2020 | Art, Short Fiction
Millie and Me Two girls bounce a ball as I watch through the two panes. A bicycle lies beside a circle of tarmac where a playground roundabout once spun. A boy climbs a steel frame and a woman carries a plastic bag across the courtyard. Above them, an old man...
by JL Jacobs | Jun 10, 2020 | Art, Short Fiction
It’s Death That Brings us Spring It’s late December at Tule Lake, in Northern California, near the Oregon border. We hunt quail and cottontail. All morning we fight crossfire snow against its attempt of immutability. This is the day I will discover that...
by JL Jacobs | Apr 29, 2020 | Short Fiction
THE CROSSING By Maureen Mancini Amaturo The doctor said, “Soon now.” He said, “Maybe there are family members you’d like to call. Anyone close by who she would like to be here, who might want to be here?” At that moment, I stood in a vacuum, in isolation, as if...
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...
