Apr 05 | Lot’s Wife (poem)

It’s really not that different now.

I have only been distilled;

you have galvanized my body of tears into its primary element.

 

Nowadays they often don’t recognize your name:

not before the name of our home.

I, of course, have no name at all,

but at least that rings true to the story

of you and I.

 

You took everything from me,

and savaged it for your beloved strangers.

The home I built for you in the outer darkness,

the children I broke my body to bear – the ones you so freely offered,

the shaky future we whittled from bare rock.

 

I suppose it is only fitting that I am so transformed.

Please break off a piece of me as you go:

Perhaps, in this state, you will see my usefulness,

and you will love me then.