Angel wings by Richard Bloom

Angel wings

I light the Yom Kippur candles
for members of my family.
I do this every other year.
The in-between years, I forget.
I’m not a good Jew.

In Sacre Coeur, I light candles
for my father and my brother.
The arms of the five-story high Christ
stretch long, wide and straight out
like angel wings on poor geese
who eat too much bread
from the hands of ignorant tourists.

When Hasidim by the C-line stop me
to ask if I’m Jewish, I nod ‘yes.’
Young bearded men in exhausted suits
coil my head and arms with
black straps of the tefillin.
To focus my attention on the
head, heart, and hand.

In the late hours, I touch the glass
enclosing each flame,
to feel the warmth of their bodies,
head, heart, and hand.


Richard Bloom has published in various magazines, including Seneca Review, New York Quarterly, Barnwood International, and Eunoia Review. He has attended Breadloaf, and studied poetry writing with several accomplished poets at the 92nd Street Y. He worked in advertising for many years. Currently, he is a substitute teacher in the NYC public schools.

Nightfall by Samuel Strathman


Tonight is for forgetting.

Rushing into the black-lit apartment,
closing the door,
missing the light
every time I go
for the switch.

Where could it be?

It was on the side here –

Darkness threatens
to stare me stiff.

I just had it –

the full-length mirror
is a pale angel.

Windows clear.
No noises –

and just when all
feels safe
my hand is swallowed
by night.


Samuel Strathman is a poet, author, educator, and the founder/editor-in-chief of Floodlight Editions.