Issue #26, April, 2002 : -- 1 -2 -3 -4 -5 -6 -7 -8 -9 -10 -11 -12
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Miriam Sagan

Miriam the Prophet Detail from "Newborn in an Ancient Vessel" In my father's house We did not believe in God We were forbidden this belief Like eating candy after you'd brushed your teeth Or coming to the dinner table barefoot My father's atheism was his true belief Along with a watered down Marxist socialism And a genuine toughness towards life And a love of Thomas Jefferson. And yet, he named me Miriam I was the eldest, after all, Miriam is a big sisterly name Indeed, I dragged the baby Around in a big basket of straw Secretly playing put-Moses-in-the-bulrushes In a scene illustrated with pyramids. The Children's Bible was not banned-- We heard how the Red Sea parted We even occasionally went to seder In Atlantic City, or once on Park Avenue At a fancy apartment. Yarmulkes on the men, And I won a tiddlywinks set For finding the afikomen. Still, he named me Miriam By the age of fourteen, I knew the Hebrew root Was mir for bitter Like Mara, Naomi's taken name, Or I tried to please my father I marched against the war, I married only men who liked classical music But by forty I wanted to leave Egypt, I wanted to read Hebrew without vowels Pray to a God Who drowned the horseman Hardened pharaoh's heart Led me out--and into what-- A desert of mauve and pink Of mesa and weathered butte Of water in a barren place Of words rushing out of my throat.

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Issue #26, April, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.