Mrs. Lot

Credit: Mark A. Wilson

There has to be something said for Lot’s
wife, for looking back, not moving on, for,
in other words, nostalgia, that onetwo
threefourfivesixseveneightnine letter
dirty word, when even Jesus for whom
she serves as reminder says to remember
her, and why else if he didn’t mean what
he said, understanding, of course, women
apt to cling to their homes, not having
in those days much else to cling to—and
what if they clung—like Lot’s poor wife whose
name we don’t even know to recall, she
having to pull up stakes and get out
just because some men liked other men, that
being none of her affair, beside which
she’d never liked Uncle Abraham’s loose
foot she swore he was born with, and so
she has long gazed back on the past which she
couldn’t put back any more than a pulled
tooth, for which crime she stands changed to a briny
pillar, still turned toward her yesterdays and
her God who surrounds her on all sides—right,
left, front, and back—her sad but salty stare.

~ Vassar Miller

Mrs. Lot

Credit: Mark A. Wilson

There has to be something said for Lot’s
wife, for looking back, not moving on, for,
in other words, nostalgia, that onetwo
threefourfivesixseveneightnine letter
dirty word, when even Jesus for whom
she serves as reminder says to remember
her, and why else if he didn’t mean what
he said, understanding, of course, women
apt to cling to their homes, not having
in those days much else to cling to—and
what if they clung—like Lot’s poor wife whose
name we don’t even know to recall, she
having to pull up stakes and get out
just because some men liked other men, that
being none of her affair, beside which
she’d never liked Uncle Abraham’s loose
foot she swore he was born with, and so
she has long gazed back on the past which she
couldn’t put back any more than a pulled
tooth, for which crime she stands changed to a briny
pillar, still turned toward her yesterdays and
her God who surrounds her on all sides—right,
left, front, and back—her sad but salty stare.

~ Vassar Miller

The Bangle Sellers

Painting by Gopal Swami Khetanchi, showcased at All India Arts

Bangle sellers are we who bear
Our shining loads to the temple fair...
Who will buy these delicate, bright
Rainbow-tinted circles of light?
Lustrous tokens of radiant lives,
For happy daughters and happy wives.

Some are meet for a maiden's wrist,
Silver and blue as the mountain mist,
Some are flushed like the buds that dream
On the tranquil brow of a woodland stream,
Some are aglow with the bloom that cleaves
To the limpid glory of new born leaves

Some are like fields of sunlit corn,
Meet for a bride on her bridal morn,
Some, like the flame of her marriage fire,
Or, rich with the hue of her heart's desire,
Tinkling, luminous, tender, and clear,
Like her bridal laughter and bridal tear.

Some are purple and gold flecked grey
For she who has journeyed through life midway,
Whose hands have cherished, whose love has blest,
And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast,
And serves her household in fruitful pride,
And worships the gods at her husband's side.

~ Sarojini Naidu

The Bangle Sellers

Painting by Gopal Swami Khetanchi, showcased at All India Arts

Bangle sellers are we who bear
Our shining loads to the temple fair...
Who will buy these delicate, bright
Rainbow-tinted circles of light?
Lustrous tokens of radiant lives,
For happy daughters and happy wives.

Some are meet for a maiden's wrist,
Silver and blue as the mountain mist,
Some are flushed like the buds that dream
On the tranquil brow of a woodland stream,
Some are aglow with the bloom that cleaves
To the limpid glory of new born leaves

Some are like fields of sunlit corn,
Meet for a bride on her bridal morn,
Some, like the flame of her marriage fire,
Or, rich with the hue of her heart's desire,
Tinkling, luminous, tender, and clear,
Like her bridal laughter and bridal tear.

Some are purple and gold flecked grey
For she who has journeyed through life midway,
Whose hands have cherished, whose love has blest,
And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast,
And serves her household in fruitful pride,
And worships the gods at her husband's side.

~ Sarojini Naidu

Lot's Wife

Photo credit: clarita from morguefile.com

Lot's wife looked back and turned into a pillar of salt. - Genesis

Holy Lot was a-going behind God's angel,

He seemed huge and bright on a hill, huge and black.

But the heart of his wife whispered stronger and stranger:

"It's not very late, you have time to look back

At these rose turrets of your native Sodom,

The square where you sang, and the yard where you span,

The windows looking from your cozy home

Where you bore children for your dear man."

She looked -- and her eyes were instantly bound

By pain -- they couldn't see any more at all:

Her fleet feet grew into the stony ground,

Her body turned into a pillar of salt.

Who'll mourn her as one of Lot's family members?

Doesn't she seem the smallest of losses to us?

But deep in my heart I will always remember

One who gave her life up for one single glance.

~ Anna Akhmatova

Lot's Wife

Photo credit: clarita from morguefile.com

Lot's wife looked back and turned into a pillar of salt. - Genesis

Holy Lot was a-going behind God's angel,

He seemed huge and bright on a hill, huge and black.

But the heart of his wife whispered stronger and stranger:

"It's not very late, you have time to look back

At these rose turrets of your native Sodom,

The square where you sang, and the yard where you span,

The windows looking from your cozy home

Where you bore children for your dear man."

She looked -- and her eyes were instantly bound

By pain -- they couldn't see any more at all:

Her fleet feet grew into the stony ground,

Her body turned into a pillar of salt.

Who'll mourn her as one of Lot's family members?

Doesn't she seem the smallest of losses to us?

But deep in my heart I will always remember

One who gave her life up for one single glance.

~ Anna Akhmatova