What the Water Gave Me, Frida Kahlo

I lie in the bath. The water is hot and I am grateful. I’ve lived without hot water so many years I tear up when slide into a hot bath.

The faucet drips. It falls into my bath, I try to feel that’s okay. The water will be used, enough water to serve two households on the other side of the world for an entire day, just for my pleasure.

The building’s water is paid for by the landlord.  He isn’t responsive to tenant concerns. I try not to think about this. It diminishes the experience and my choice. It doesn’t honor the water I’m submerged in.  I start to feel a little crazy. Why can’t I enjoy a bath without  sorrow for people who must risk death for a drink of contaminated water?

Other’s responses to times I was unable to keep my mouth shut surface. “If I have the ability to enjoy comforts why shouldn’t I?” “Denying yourself doesn’t change anything.” “You cannot save the world.”

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Day 19 in the United States of America