Poems in this issue Linda Barrett Ruth Deming Jan Felgoise Marion Fox Angela Glover Jan Goldman Maxine Hobbs Grace Lynch Marvin Thall   Edited by Kristine Grow For more information about  writing workshops offered by the Cheltenham Township Adult School, contact: Cheltenham Township Adult School 1414 Panther Road Wyncote, PA 19095 Phone: 215-887-1720	Jan Goldman Jan Goldman is a psychologist practicing in Jenkintown who has written and published poetry for the last ten years. She has published work in The Jewish Women's Literary Annual, The Edison Literary Review, and the professional journal, Families, Systems, and Health. Most of the poems written in the Cheltenham Adult school poetry class have found their way into print.  She lives with her husband, Nick in Elkins Park.                                                         Jacob   Jacob, Jacob angel child Born in the caul crowned with a mane of double-processed blonde the envy of any grandmother and the family lineage of big baby blues.   The caul foretold you would be a seer. As it turned out your sight was so much less than ours. So we waited for your third eye to develop.   Meanwhile you fought for your place here with your Esau brother who wouldn’t yield an inch. Howling in protest in one minute in the next your grin would light the universe.   Like the first Jacob, you wandered far drank from other wells, wrestled shadows. We didn’t see you leave. It must have happened when we looked away.   Persued then by your warrior mother, beckoned by your gentle droll father, called back by your high I.Q., your poetry and your chess, you returned, carried from that private darkness by Daisy, the neighbor child who half-waif, half-seductress lured you with her twelve year old love… and you followed.   As we watched.  As we waited.                                                                                                                      Moon Sister   Moon Sister, our path was to orbit wide of each other in wary motion unsteady in our waxing and waning, returning in long cycles after absence. Not all moons are visible you know. Some, like you, disappear during certain times.   We chose different planets to circle. You wanted us to look upwards at your brilliance, confer stardom. I sought no less, but in quieter mode, my realm specked over with a softer reflected light, pegged to the earth’s solidity.                               The last time we spoke before a Thanksgiving my invitation guarded, my condition your civility you answered with cold fire, saying it would be better if we never spoke again. And we never did.  Speak.  Again.   Was it lunacy that I tried truth when all else failed? As rage fueled you, rocket-like, in further movement out of orbit and beyond the power of recall   I was left in the dark and sisterless universe Relieved.   Exhausted.   Alone.	"Storytelling reveals meaning without committing the error of defining it." Hannah Arendt
	Editor's note:   At this time, The Tookany Review is accepting only the work of writers who are enrolled or have been enrolled in Cheltenham Adult School writing workshops. Home

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