the woman who was water

 

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The woman who was water
lived on the edges of rooms,
knew when to withdraw.

The woman who was water

came to Brooklyn,

and filled every basement.

The woman who was water

left all her lovers

clean.

The woman who was water

insisted no one understood her,

saw herself gentle as mist,

a rain-pearly morning, a sweet lilac fog. 

So when she battered at shingles, 

gnawed through foundations,

burst out of pipes,

she was offering love.

Why didn't people want it?

The woman who was water

was not analytical.

She knew three things:

They couldn't pass laws against her.

They couldn't declare her harmless.

They couldn't exist without her.

The woman who was water

could power a city,

or drown it.

—Enid Dame

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