J. L. Jacobs

Pages: 1 2 3

The Magnolia Hotel

Grain sprouted in drawers

of her dreams.


In the rain    in the fog

this could be

that Manhattan flat

or Thoor Ballylee at eve.



All the film noir scenes

where moisture hangs

dims streetlamps.

And this scene is like those

sans the dame in high heels

walking a dog in the rain.



All Magnolia

heavy on the air.

Water rolls


waxed leaves.



All echo

An era of trains

And this the MKT.



All the fabrics of the world.

Pashminas of beaded purple silk.

Chiffon, linen,

of haute couture.


Ladies in red and white

and black taffeta with velvet.

Coming and going



The old hotel grande.

And the rooms

open to my indiscretion.

Coming and going.

“What did you find?” he asked.

I didn’t look.


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