I joke about how boring water is.
My father says his father bade him think
how many nasty things are done by fish
in it, and try to choose a different drink.
My mother didn’t serve it with our meal –
I thought that ritual for restaurants
and Protestants. It rarely had appeal,
for sedentary me had other wants.

Four days ago, I learned the taste of death
on parchment tongue. Too little water taught
me hiking what a torture is each step
when every cell is screaming thirst, and water
is withheld.
Recovered, I can’t get
enough of water’s clean transparent wet.