Where else could she look, but back?
Though not in mourning, as some have told it,
Counting milestones, naming joys. Or even from a lack
Of obedience, as if she had called out, “Hold it.
I am Lot’s wife, that must count for something.”
Maybe once she would have staked her life on such a claim,
But now she’s heard the bargaining
And wonders how she missed it all these years. Nameless
This grief that overtakes her and slows her swift
Legs to a halt. She is Lot’s wife, no more than chattel
To do with as the need arises and he sees fit.
Humbled, she turns around, away from that.
A pillar of salt! It doesn’t surprise her,
This slow dissolving into tears.