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
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.
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.
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.