Lot’s Wife

I was good, patient, reverent

And forgiving.

I nurtured my babies,

Dressed, fed, washed and

Loved them.

I told them stories, read from

The words of apostles, prophets:

Men.

The plates were brass.

I cooked and cleaned and

Continued to slave whilst he

Talked to God.

When he did grace us with his

Presence, his strong, natural

Essence, he told us to pack,

We were to leave right away;

No questions asked.

Oh Jerusalem! The Holy land!

My Home! Our family walked

With bare essentials, the gold

And silver left alone.

I turned to Lot.

All I wanted was to have one,

Last look, at the city,

Which God decided to destroy,

But his cold heart forbade me to turn.

It was too much, there were screams

I felt the heat on my back,

And it burned

Still he told me,

Don’t. Look. Back.

Well, I wasn’t going to listen

To him, so I turned away

And changed, no longer human.

Cold and broken.

I was no one, but

Of course that’s what I always was,

Because with him, I was only

Lot’s Wife.