My Lot

A new sonnet of mine, a product partly of long musing, partly of insomnia.

note: I just altered this to past tense, since it seems more poignant this way. What do you think?


My Lot

The scorching daystar pounded through my head

As my tired fists beat down on pliant dough—

Another day he’d thank for daily bread;

Another day of cook, and clean, and sew.


Each day at dawn he left to dictate law;

Each day at dawn I rose to endless chores.

Each evening claimed him still without a flaw—

Each evening that I faced with aches and sores.


He is renowned for his great holiness;

And I am nameless as his pliant spouse,

So pliant that I stood in silent dress

When rape he said was better in this house.


With treasured guests he fled the blind, and I

Lingered to grieve what good men justify.



5 thoughts on “My Lot

  1. Eliz Anderson

    Dear Unseen. I like it either way, but it does seem more hopeful now that you placed it into past tense. I have posted a couple new ‘poems’ on my blog. I hope you will enjoy them. I continue to enjoy your thought provoking work. I hope you are actually getting some of your ‘real’ work done too. 🙂

  2. flayed Hypatia Post author


    Hopeful? How?

    I am getting work done, actually (on pg. 25 of chapter 2), though today while making potsticker filling, I cut a chunk out of my finger, and with this huge bandage on, it is very hard to type (I can’t use the finger at all, so every time I need a letter in that finger’s range, I have to stop a minute to find it!). And it hurts.

    But I hope to be able to type again maybe Saturday, and then, if all goes well, to have a draft of chapter 2 ready to send off to my committee Monday.


    You’re welcome. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it must have been like for Lot’s wife. I think I have a few more poems in store, especially as this one didn’t quite get the notion across that I intended. (Still, I like what it does say.)

  3. Eliz Anderson

    I guess I took the past tense form to meaning that this tragic life was in the past. An elderly lady remembering a hard life lived. The pain etched forever in her memories yet, the actions of a long ago time. Sorry I guess I didn’t get your intent. I read some of your work on your other site too. I can’t even come close to your way with words. But I still like read and write poetry. And I do understand the frustration of people not getting what we tried to convey. So sorry. I hope your finger heals fast.

  4. flayed Hypatia Post author

    Well, I guess yeah, that tragic life is in her past. And there’s perhaps nothing tragic about her new existence as a statue. Hmm.


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