Water Story

I love the living sound of my plantwhen I water it,
the hiss and suck of agua
pulled through the soil by gravity,
the sweat that appears on the clay pot,
the unwrinkling of the leaves.
I had a patient once, pregnant mother
morning sick and evening sick, who arrived
hauling her children, carrying her bucket.
We slipped a needle in her vein,
dripped saline into the dry core of her,
and, right before me, the woman
plumped up. My ivy overflows—
a thread of water and fertilizer returns to earth
through the sink mouth. I am happy
that all life is circular. Seven months later,
the woman’s chubby boy popped out, head first,
blood and water flooded the catch basin, spilled over.
I carry this story on my white shoes.