a cup of water

scorching sun and dry throats

we climbed the suzuki to the park

cold water cannot be found

under our burqas

instead we hold bottles of lukewarm oceans

the salty sweat on our upper lips could not satiate our thirst

pani chayai

"i want water"

in the bumpy car ride

the kid cries

and women search the floor for water

the Coca-Colo bottle filled with the clear ambrosia

rolls around as people try to grab it

i hold the Nestle

filtered water is all our American stomachs can hold

in the foreign Pakistan.

the mothers look at me

but i can not share what is only for myself

the water they drink is harsh

the water i drink is pure

one sip of theirs and i become best friend with the toilet.

i hide my bottle

pani chayai

i do not give.

3 years later

the scorching sun and dry throats

we climb the suzuki to the park

cold water cannot be found

under our burqas

instead we hold bottles of lukewarm oceans

the salty sweat on our upper lips can not satiate our thirst

pani chayai

"i want water"

in the bumpy car ride

the kid cries

the Coca-Colo bottle filled with the clear ambrosia

rolls around as people try to grab it

i hold the Nestle

i pull it out from under my scarf

and pour the clear gold into a metal cup

piyo

"drink this"

when you give, you get more yourself

my stomach can not hold their water

but i can also find more

the tears stain the child's face

as he smiles

the mothers eyes crinkle behind her niqab

she gives me 10 rupees

"buy more water when we get to the park"

the seed of generosity took time to be planted

but 3 years older

and it is now a tree.