Melinda González

Cuando Agua es Muerte

Drink. Drink water, girl.
The words so easily, casually roll off my mother's tongue.
In Spanish, she begs, Bebe.
Nena, bebe agua.

I go to oblige, but when the sink opens,
it's the color of bronze, chunks of rusted metals threatening to sneak by, covered in—
these things I try to forget, like the bottles of opioids we flushed down the toilet.

My mother turns the news on to hear the newscaster repeat,
“We promise the city’s waters are safe”—a story we’ve heard too many times before.

She lines her countertop with crates of plastic water bottles.
48 lined up.
Her wrinkled hands split the top.
Drink. Drink water, girl.

And I,
I wake up in a cold sweat on many nights envisioning the equator all made of water bottles,
plastic in my chest, marinating in my guts, a sort of cyborg I've become.

Nena bebe.
Bebe agua.

Water drink, drink water because all the things that ain't it are gonna kill you, girl.

Bebe.

My mother brags about looking so young because she hydrates,
Sun-kissed skin drenched in water.

And I,
I wake up in a cold sweat when I remember,
Swans swimming in crude oil, white feathers blackened by debris.
I try to drink, but my throat closes up with the words. Bebe. Nena bebe.

All around me, they say—the Fifth Calamity will be—
And I see—
A Nestlé tycoon aims to own the water in Bolivia, a war breaks,
An oil tycoon threatens the sacred lands of Standing Rock, a war breaks,
A political tycoon does nothing about the infested waters in Flint or Newark, and still, my
mother says,
Nena bebe. Bebe agua.

Replenish with this thing you're all but 12 percent of,
I awake but asleep.
An ocean full of it, my guts, too, now all plastic.

Nena bebe. Bebe agua, but that is poison now, too.

Dr. Melinda González, a native of Newark, New Jersey with an ancestral home in Moca, Puerto Rico, is an Afro-Indigenous scholar-activist-poet of Puerto Rican descent. She has performed poetry internationally under the name Poeta Guerrera. Her poetry ranges in style and depth. At moments it rages in political fire—angry at the injustices that plague the world. Other pieces are deep and personal—commenting on a painful childhood that has fueled her love for artistic expression. Having always searched for a deeper meaning and understanding of life, Melinda’s personal experiences in different religions have impacted her work. Her poetry captures her journey through life’s difficult emotions. She has been published in several literary journals and self-published two poetry books: Ramas y Raices (Branches & Roots) and ReConstruct.