The year is 2019 and all our conversations are now about water. Even the conversations not about water are about water. Water still comes in all three forms. The moon, for example, we now know has ice in its shadow. And the billionaires all have spaceships for eyes, says my dad as his lettuce escapes his sandwich. My mom, who always asks for tap water without ice, is worried about tides when the moon becomes a space water fountain. My mind skips to walruses skipping down cliff sides and how in an undergraduate course on the History of Christian Thought my professor described God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit as water, ice, and steam, but didn’t specify which was which or what happens to the Trinity when the ice caps melt. My mom reaches for my hand. What’re your plans for tomorrow? She is asking, of course, if I still believe in water. The moon falls perfectly toward Earth and perspiration from her water glass travels between our palms.
