Poverty stirs me awake. I press to the window for a ray of sun to hit my upturned face. I see the cool waters of Spring bubbling up through the street, pooling at the curb and flowing freely as a brook down the street as if its journey is leading it onto bigger and better things.
I stumble to the bathroom and foolishly turn the faucet to wash my face — nothing flows from the tap because there is nothing to flow. The water has been disconnected. Now I remember! The bill kept getting higher and higher, no matter how much I tried to pay on it.
As I grab another bottle of water to clean my face and teeth, should I dare to take a sip of this liquid gold and force the reaction of normal bodily functions, creating a bigger burden? Here is this room where most find comfort and relief, and seek to feel refreshed. It has now become part of my place of torment. As it will for the 60,000 households now facing shutoffs due to the moratorium ending, having to experience the ultimate in water torture. TO TAKE IT AWAY! City officials should be appalled at their treatment of residents, of fellow human beings.
It strips me of my life force, draws the very essence from my blood and tears me apart slowly as I watch that water flowing freely in the street. Many residents know this pain, knowing we cannot partake of it and cannot afford to invite it into our humble homes.
I woke up this morning to EXISTENCE OVER LIVING!
But I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. And we will continue to fight. We will continue to call out this abuse of human rights.