Author Archives: Jaclynn Loibl

I made ice cream. With the immersion blender, I ground up the pitted and peeled peaches that Dave had prepared. Then, using the mixer on speed ten, I whipped the heavy cream until it was as thick as a wet sponge. I folded in the peach purée, a bit of vanilla extract, agave syrup andContinue reading “The Patience of Play”

I don’t write music reviews. But after listening to Josie Edwards’ song for the second time, vivid images flooded my mind. It felt like a battle pitchfork cry—dark and raw in its lyrics, yet yipping like a poetic coyote skipping through a field. Maybe I’ll write something. Maybe I’ll even message her on Instagram, seeContinue reading “Dreaming Without Exit”

Children’s books should be prescribed alongside therapy and medication. I mean it. Every night, I ingest stories about friendship, hardship, joy, and redemption—tales of silly bears and resilient thingamajigs—and I’m convinced they’re rewiring something in me. When I’m quick to credit my rosy, sunshiney moods to hobbies, relationships, or a good night’s sleep, I forgetContinue reading “Not Just For Evelyn”

You will not catch me jamming my bare tootsies into the dark bowels of a tennis shoe or boot. Not in this humid countryside. This place is a menagerie—a loving bosom of invitation for frogs, crickets, spiders, and whatever else wants a ride. Just the other day, I flipped the porch rug and found threeContinue reading “Getting Buggy With It”

I hate how uncomfortable my chest feels—like tambourines crashing, like rubber bands stretched and snapped in my underbelly. I pretend to grab handfuls of it and hurl it into the yard, across the country road, into the cow-filled pasture. Eff you, I want to say. Be rid of me. It feels like an infestation. AContinue reading “Swallowed, Then Surfacing”

I’m a fan of Evelyn’s imagination. The metallic ball-and-stick set used to build pyramids transforms into rooms, playgrounds, and ships for a battling world. Three-inch toy dinosaurs—orange, yellow, and green—inhabit this miniature landscape. Marbles and extra magnet sticks become food, while an empty paper towel roll and a rubber bracelet make occasional cameos. But oh,Continue reading “The Weight of Being Heard”

When setting up a fish tank, you have to cycle it. I’m not sure if that’s the exact term, but the idea is to give it time—monitoring the balance of phosphates or nitrates—so when the fish are finally plunked in, the environment supports their long-term health and happiness. When Dave started the tank in ourContinue reading “How Does Your Garden Grow?”

At the left side of our property, as you curve around the drive, large limbs—each the size of three people laid head-to-toe—rest low to the ground like sleeping giants. One fell in a storm; two came down with the pole saw. They’ll clutter quickly if we’re not diligent. I’m prioritizing those branches. They’ve got toContinue reading “Where the Branches Lie”

A tan sedan backs out onto Rollingbrook Drive. The evening soundscape: the ting of a ping pong ball thudding the table before super-bouncing across the garage cement, the click-clack of the keys of my lap, the distant echo of a firework a few neighborhoods over. And cicadas—those alarming insect assholes I somehow forgot about. IContinue reading “Wishing, Hoping, Waiting”