Pillar of Salt

by Mara Inglezakis

pink salt lake with salt crystals on wooden pillars on sunny day

First Thought

With the Kevlar glove of the angel on her wrist she spoke: I know
we have to go. I know the smell of fear
and of charred flesh. I know we have to go. But you
forget: this place is still my home.

Second Thought

Did I clean out the espresso pot? Is the AC off?
Is the back gate locked?

They swarmed the streets with their
house-shoes on. A woman turns:

you must look back. You must mourn Sodom and
Gomorrah or you will turn into a pillar of stone.

Third Thought

At the crimp in the last switchback up the mountain above Zoar
her husband spoke: keep going.

To hell with you, I am a pillar
of salt. You know I can’t keep going if you don’t carry me.

Mara is a writer and technologist. Her work explores gender and identity formation, histories of trauma, and relationship with God. She lives and works in Minneapolis, United States.

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