Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I looked back supposedly curious.
But besides curiosity I might have had other reasons.
I looked back regretting the silver dish.
Through carelessness - tying a sandal strap.
In order not to keep staring at the righteous nape
of my husband, Lot.
Because of the sudden conviction that had I died
He wouldn’t have stopped.
Being humble yet disobedient.
Listening for pursuers.
Touched with silence, hoping God had changed His mind.
Our two daughters were already disappearing beyond the hilltop.
I felt my age. Distance,
futility of wandering. Drowsiness.
I looked back when setting down the bundle.
I looked back in terror where to stop next.
My path suddenly teeming with snakes,
spiders, field mice and baby vultures.
Now neither good nor evil - just everything living
crawled and hopped in crowded panic.
I looked back in desolation.
Ashamed of running away in stealth.
Wanting to scream, to turn back.
Or only when a gust of wind
untied my hair and lifted up my skirts.
I had a feeling they were watching from the walls of Sodom
with bursts of hearty laughter again and again.
I looked back in anger.
To savour their great loss.
I looked back willessly.
It was only a rock slipping, growling beneath me.
It was a crevice suddenly cut my way off.
A hamster trotted on the edge, raised on two paws.
And then it was we both looked back.
No, no. I ran on,
I crawled and I soared
until darkness crashed from heaven
and with it hot gravel and dead birds.
Losing breath I often swerved.
If anyone saw me, they would have thought I was dancing.
Conceivably, my eyes were open.
Possibly I fell face turned towards the city.