Her Tears of Water

I
am
free
to pay
water’s
price in a
bottle, even
if it’s more than
3000 times greater
in cost– for a similar
drink from a tap. Equal
waters—different motive.
Altered outcomes to dry lips
of two overseers.  One affluent
slakes of ignorance, while another
child dies in the dry waste of Ethiopia.
A woman hauls in an exasperated labor a
carboy scored by incalculable hours of sweat
and pain.  Never a breath, never a song to allay
the torturous routine of a trudge through the tears
of hours. The moans of a family, too sickly to feel the
grieving spirits— the lost dignity, the travails of hunger
flowing in salty arid veins.  Vessels in bondage from the
dearth of pure waters. An unforgivable privation on us all
as a civil society, failing to wash the sands of dirty faces.
Unable to touch God’s love in sickly flesh—they lose a
 God—given right to thrive spiritually and physically.
 To bless others and us. We become the defeated.
Yes, I am free to be thoughtless—which, for
many of us are bliss. While God weeps
with her pouring drops of tears—
but still moves on waters
peaceably flowing
and pure.