Jan Bloomstein Poems

She laughs at the perfect way
She spins the dreidel
And says to me out of nowhere,
'I must have gotten that from Pepere....'
...

Bring that ring of fire to bed
Lay your fever down
Cool this grievous wreath of flames
Don your dressing gown
...

A white moon, halved,
Touches frozen fields with
Pale hands
Ghost fingers curl around
...

Pain,
Rigid pain,
Sits on my lap with its back erect.
Eyes wide
...

The clouds, that day,
Rolled across the sky like grey chariots.
'Looks like rain, ' you said.
But I, being the idealist that I am,
...

A dream:
On the trail that I walk with my mother,
I look down at small sneakers, faded red to pink,
Jumping on swatches of sun-patched moss
...

'As I am, soon so shall you be...'
Calls deep
From the dark well
All hollow and rasp
...