This goes deeper than water, deeper
than water can eat into rock.

There was intention here, more corrosive
than the acids that scrape at our pipes.

It stains our sinks, whistles in our veins,
sings in our livers. Poisons the heart.

Our children won’t come to the table.
They stir in their sleep. When you

were a child, afraid to lie by yourself
in the dark, you asked your mother

for water. When you were the mother,
you brought the cool-skinned glass

for your child, and read a story
about the little fish in the darkened sea

who sleep with their eyes wide open.
Now be my guest. Spend the night

in my house. Turn on the tap.
Fill up your glass.