Lots Wife Poem By Wislawa Szymborska

Lot’s Wife – Poem by Wislawa Szymborska
They say I looked back out of curiosity.

But I could have had other reasons.

I looked back mourning my silver bowl.

Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap.

So I wouldn’t have to keep staring at the righteous nape

of my husband Lot’s neck.

From the sudden conviction that if I dropped dead

he wouldn’t so much as hesitate.

From the disobedience of the meek.

Checking for pursuers.

Struck by the silence, hoping God had changed his mind.

Our two daughters were already vanishing over the hilltop.

I felt age within me. Distance.

The futility of wandering. Torpor.

I looked back setting my bundle down.

I looked back not knowing where to set my foot.

Serpents appeared on my path,

spiders, field mice, baby vultures.

They were neither good nor evil now–every living thing

was simply creeping or hopping along in the mass panic.

I looked back in desolation.

In shame because we had stolen away.

Wanting to cry out, to go home.

Or only when a sudden gust of wind

unbound my hair and lifted up my robe.

It seemed to me that they were watching from the walls of Sodom

and bursting into thunderous laughter again and again.

I looked back in anger.

To savor their terrible fate.

I looked back for all the reasons given above.

I looked back involuntarily.

It was only a rock that turned underfoot, growling at me.

It was a sudden crack that stopped me in my tracks.

A hamster on its hind paws tottered on the edge.

It was then we both glanced back.

No, no. I ran on,

I crept, I flew upward

until darkness fell from the heavens

and with it scorching gravel and dead birds.

I couldn’t breathe and spun around and around.

Anyone who saw me must have thought I was dancing.

It’s not inconceivable that my eyes were open.

It’s possible I fell facing the city.

On Fitting Words in Boxes

they all want lots of words
What does the poem mean?
what is the intent of the art?
why did you write that song?

I did it because I
had no words

We have no paragraphs
no dissertations
no great explanations
no answers

What was my intent?
To paint that deer,
wtf do you think it was?
to grab existence,
throw it over the fence?

What does this poem mean?
The same as any,
that I am nearly
but I squeezed this yearning out
this yearning

I have argued too often
with others and myself
when the world gives old men boxes
in which to type
and guitars to play
and paint to throw on
cloth primed with
paint and

…..david M jackson