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Jill Rachel Jacobs’ Poetry

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Ms. Jacobs publishing credits include The New York Times, Reuters, The Boston Globe, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Newsday, and The Independent.

To Quell Your Curiosity

I don’t see you dangling in the distance,

rising in unfettered crowds, enveloped by

a smoky steel blue haze, with melancholy

jazz instrumentals, riffing with hot licks.

Your face no longer lingers in the shadow

of the hollow moon; the crease from your

furrowed brow has softened, now that your

reflection has disappeared from my morning

coffee. Once the one and only, the yearning

to see only me in your eyes has faded to a

distant, jaded memory. The cracks and crevices

of your chiseled face have slowly melted, replaced

by these proverbial weathered lines, leaving only

empty spaces, open holes, where life bone-sucked

you dry. For now, there is only now, and words,

emptying into these fractured lines, buried in a

dust-bowl of memories.

 

?

There is always a question,

whose answer will remain unclear,

until it’s clear. (Like, duh?)

Because since you’ve returned,

There’s been this ginormous elephant,

planted right smack

in the middle of the room.

(Oh come on, you see it, don’t you?)

Rearing its ugly head here and there,

Yet, always resigning itself

to its respective corner,

Patiently awaiting its turn.

No! I’m not calling your wife an elephant!

Don’t be ridiculous.

(Although she could very well be the size of an elephant—

How would I know?)

No, I don’t want to see her picture!

I would prefer to pretend that she does not exist.

(That’s been working fine ‘til now, don’t you think?)

No! I’m not calling her a fat, pig!

(That’s actually redundant, by the way.)

Come to think of it,

I really like pigs.

They’re a really sweet animal

who is often misunderstood and maligned.

Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, too.

I’m sure your girl is lovely.

You must bring her for a drink

when you come sometime! (Hubbell).

 

Extrication from a Narcissist on a Sunday Afternoon

 The Jaws of

Life will never suffice 

when it comes to breaking free.

Locked up, clamped in, terminally well-wedged.

Perhaps you’ll lose a limb or two,

but the loss will pale in comparison to 

the glory of the rebirth.

 

Will you be a dog, a llama, or a cow the next time around?

 

Short-cuts, easy departures, and 

mass exoduses are strongly discouraged.

Successful egress is a delicate, tenuous process,

requiring tenacity, patience, and most of all, a plan.

 

Will you be a warrior, a princess, or a nomad 

when the day of reckoning commences?

 

            Step One:        Step away from the narcissist.

            Step Two:        Turn in the opposite direction.

            Step Three:      Run like hell.

            Step Four:       Do not stop running.

            Step Five:        Do not look back.

            Step Six:          Rinse.

            Step Seven:      Repeat.

 

 

 

Poetry

Jill Rachel Jacobs is a Pushcart nominated poet whose poetry has been featured in The Tower Journal, Varnish Journal, Lost Coast Review, Ygdrasil: A Journal of The Poetic Arts, The Screech Owl. Ms. Jacobs publishing credits include The New York Times, Reuters, The Boston Globe, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Newsday, and The Independent.
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