Lot’s Wife

She sat on the porch
Watching the salt pillar
Waiting for the rain
Which the weatherman promised
But failed to produce again.
It is autumn in California
And the palm trees do not change.
She shivers to break the stillness.
It is not cold, only gray.
She does not feel herself growing old,
Only others turning away.
But she could not let love leave her
Without calling it by its name
For a moment, he turned back to her
Now he stands like a marker on a grave
She sits past the point of return
Waiting for the rain.