Lot’s Wife at the County Fair (32)

By Amelia K.

Bloodsick and crumbling like first place ribbons                   you can’t eat, and no one wants to
a peach gone soft at the height of the season                      greet pain that makes atheists out of
                                                                   so called saints tying
ribbons on a lover’s wrists scarless like a baby                     no one asked for
and no one is allowed to give back, so                                 (why)
place a ribbon on her head                                                   (or why not)

Amelia K. (she/her) lives in Georgia with her son. Her work has appeared in Cordite, Dirt, ctrl+v, and others. Every year on her birthday, she writes a poem about Lot’s Wife as a way of literally and metaphorically looking back and honoring the past year.