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Tyler Michael Jacobs

Self-Portrait as Purple Flowers Wilting in Vases

The room I once loved full of flowers spilling everywhere––  
There are so many other stories to tell:
 
When you complained about the onset of cold and the gravestones kept singing
The virginity of the dead, one became of the other.
 
My feet still try to find yours in the middle of the night to fall
Back to sleep. Fingers once braided together as if to say, I’m here,
 
Blossoming rosebuds in palms. It’s that cold emptiness
Of morning in which I wake. A moth tapping the screen
 
And the smell of the last cut grass wafts through the open window
In my apartment. I look at my feet wondering where they too might one day come
 
To rest. God, could I be any more transparent?
The shapes of trees are sweeping the sky today. It’s that line
 
Between birth and violation. O, trees in stale light, forgive me
For not noticing it’s the shadows that move––still, nowhere to rest a head.

Biography

Picture
Photography by Kassidy McConville
Tyler Michael Jacobs (He/Him) is the author of Building Brownville (Stephen F. Austin State University Press, 2022). His words have appeared in Pidgeonholes, Sierra Nevada Review, Thin Air Magazine, White Wall Review, Funicular Magazine, and elsewhere. His poems have also been featured on Nebraska Public Media’s Friday LIVE! He is a first-year poetry MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University. He also serves as an assistant editor for Mid-American Review.
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  • Home
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    • Issue 31
    • Issue 30
    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions