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Lot
It
was too much to ask—not to look
back.
What woman ever left the home she loved
Without a backward glance—one last
farewell?
It wasn’t that she didn’t want
to leave,
But something of herself still lingered
there
Among the dusty ashes of the hearth
That baked the daily bread—the
village well,
The sunny courtyard where the children
played,
The rooms where she performed day after
day
The hundred homely duties bound with
dreams
That shape a woman’s life. Was it a
sin
Just to look back? It was too much to
ask.
—Ann M. Schultz, Rochester,
Minnesota, submitted this poem after
reading Susan Ehst’s
“Lot’s Wife” (DreamSeeker
Magazine, Summer 2006) |
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