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alizahaskal

Lot’s Wife (revised)


in the winter

i salt my earth of you—

grow pale, bloated, slug-shriveled

then tall, still, frosted.

when i look back

we freeze

some untold distance apart

two pillars sucking water from the air

and expelling it in clammy droplets.

the dampness turns the desert floor

to quicksand underfoot.




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