Water


             

The boy keeps saying the word, water.

Indeed, the flood has swamped his mud-brick hut

pulled a heist off his belongings and handed it over in the hands of a mother who needed it the less.

In the body of Earth, everything returns to mothers,

a backpack lost in the waves is merely a prayer heard in the woods.


Now, the boy keeps saying the word,

water.

w, a, t, e, r.

Because every other letter is soaked up and spoiled just like the last pot of rice.

Because stressing every other syllable involves accessing the appetite in your stomach.

a, e, r, t, w.

If you are left stranded on an island with only a handful of English letters,

what would be the first word you'll whisper into the mellow of the sea.


Cyclone Burevi has destroyed at least 75 huts, uprooted nearly 66 trees, and took out half as much as electric poles

but this boy is blessed enough to have a roof over his head.

His knees, still crawling in a pool of water which only means everything up his body is sacred.

300 miles later, Appa, Amma, Anna, and I said the prayer and went to bed,

which only means we belonged in the sacred part of his body.

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