Marjorie Sadin was born May 9, 1954, Mother’s Day. She has published a chapbook, The Cliff Edge, a full length book, Vision of Lucha, and  recently a new chapbook, Struck by Love. She has published her poetry nationally. Marjorie currently lives in the Washington D.C. area and she reads her poems locally. She works as a docent for the Library of Congress.

New Year's Eve 2018

Marjorie Sadin
                                             

The night sky is cloudy, only the battered moon breaks through. City lights jewels on a gaudy necklace. Cars glow red ants. The city is aroused all night. It’s New Year’s Eve. I stay home to avoid DWIs. I watch the ball drop in New York City on TV. Music wafts through the walls. This year I will say my vows to you under the chuppah. This year the country will be at the brink of war. This year I could lose my father. The city stirs, a mixed drink. We down a bottle of wine and fall asleep.

Family Circus

Marjorie Sadin

Like a clown, I was manic.

You had me put away.

I hated you for that.

I was the boy you never had.

I was the girl who cried a lot.

I was the child you hardly knew.

You were the lion tamer with the belt.

Mom would lie down with me till I fell asleep.

At ten, I juggled my love.

At twenty, I was the fat lady.

Later I ate fire.

Now you are the tightrope walker

who will fall to his death.

A Burden

Marjorie Sadin

I carry a knapsack filled with stone.

I carry the weight of your being old.

You lay low inside my bones.

I am afraid you could become no one.

When the time comes I will carry you

across the river Jordan.

You were the father who raised me

when I was heavy as a load of dough

that rose and rose until you could not contain me.

Now I hold you even though it hurts.

When you go you will be as light as a handful of dirt.