Lot’s Wife (II) A white requiem of promises reaches me— you’re finally here who have been traveling since before I can remember and you come bearing his flag which, distracted by the wind for a moment, reminds me of your facial tick. To your eyes I am immobile— veined stone with a shock of hair, monolith whose pauses between speech rare enough to be oracular cement your view of the scene: one square of an ancient codex with a border of human blood that offers an order to read how birds and flowers outstretch the sun how like a pillar of salt, nothing about me prevails but everything remembers.
David Capps is a philosophy professor at Western Connecticut State University. He is the author of three chapbooks: Poems from the First Voyage (The Nasiona Press, 2019), A Non-Grecian Non-Urn (Yavanika Press, 2019), and Colossi (Kelsay Books, 2020). He lives in New Haven, CT.
Amethyst Review 