by Anna Akhmatova

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

And the holy man followed the envoy of God,
Enormous and bright on the black mountain path
But angst was imploring the wife of Lot:
“It’s not yet too late; you can still catch that last
Small glimpse of dear Sodom’s majestic red towers
Of that square where you sang, that yard where you worked
Of that tall house’s windows now empty and dour
Where you bore many kids to this man you adore.”
She looked – and her eyes were instantly braced
By the pain of death. They could see no more.
And her body turned into transparent salt glaze
And her fast feet grew into the earth’s grassy floor.

Who will sing a lament for this woman’s demise?
Does she seem like the smallest of losses perchance?
Yet my heart will forever remember and prize
Her, who forfeited life for that one final glance.