Lot's wife

Sometimes I think of you
turned into salt
(but not of the earth)
because you couldn't resist-
compulsion stronger than command-

What shall I call you:
Patron saint of all of us
who can't, after all,
Let it go-
Obsessed with memory-
the city built
(so small, our spaces)
and its burning
(our stories returned to dust
with our bodies) -
Saint?
Sister
They took your name from me
(as they took so many others)
but the taste of you remains
I carry it on my skin.