I prefer water over air.
Before my parents divorced,
I was kept alive in my mother's womb by water
before air even made a home in my lungs.
I was born and baptized in water,
water that the Catholic church labels as pure,
pure like the tears of joy
that ran down the faces of my parents
on their wedding day.

Growing up, I told them
I wanted to be an astronaut
so they took me to the community pool
and I was almost convinced
I was floating in space,
but I could still hear their rings
clanking though the water.

Water kept the flowers alive in my mom's backyard
and provided something to wash my dad's dog with
Water brought him back when he went overseas
and water was the only thing
that could short-circuit his phone,
where the text messages were sent through air.

You see, air gives the privilege of flying away,
air passes through my dad's lips
when he whistles a song I don't hear anymore,
it gives him the voice to say, "I love you"
to his new family.

My fondness of water grows from
seeing old family beach photos,
the ocean is captured like the smiles on their faces,
air isn't visible
Water makes the sky blue
the same sky that ties together our broken family
It keeps the wetness in my mouth
so I can pronunciate the words
"mommy" and "daddy"
Water makes me float in zero gravity like
their astronaut again
Water is the familiarity
in the old pipes of our house
Water is mixed into the church wine
we went to on Sunday's.

It was my mom's safe substitute for alcohol
when my dad left.  
Water quenched our family,
but I guess
drowned my dad.