Blinding Morning
Marjorie Sadin is a nationally published poet with poems in such magazines as Chrysanthemum Literary Anthology, Blaze Vox, Big Windows Review, and The Jewish Women’s Literary Annual. She has five books of poems in print including a chapbook, The Cliff Edge, and a full length book, Vision of Lucha about struggle and survival, love, death, and family. Recently she published a chapbook, Struck by Love. She currently lives in Virginia.
By Marjorie Sadin
Blinding morning sun in my eyes,
I pass masked people like me.
Nod hello, walk in the street to social
distance. We do this for each other.
Still there are some who don’t
believe.
Crammed inside a room with
no masks - super spreaders.
They are the ones who
don’t believe.
Three hundred thousand expected to
die by year’s end. And still there are
some who don’t believe.
Experts warn a spike in the fall, still
some don’t believe.
As the sick go to work, fraternities
throw parties, and children breathe on
each other at school - hospitals fill up
and they believe.
As people lose their houses, their retirement,
the food on their tables, they believe.
The sun blinds me.
What I cannot see is causing death.
Still I believe.