first water of morning
the translation into English
dries my grandmother’s mouth

spoiled water she spits
on the pads of her fingers
dabs them on the crook of my neck

stale water drawn
before using the mouth
for words, give water

healing water undiscovered
first communion
of salt

accumulated water the body hoards
more than it needs
pincushion islands rise

rotten water the river
where my tongues swim
in sleep

Read the rest of Poetry in Lockdown, edited by Toby Fitch and Melody Paloma

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