Standpipe: Delivering Water In Flint

Two large images, portraits of women, displayed on the front of an abandoned house.  I haul six cases of water to a woman living in the home next door.  There are only a few houses left standing on this street, two, maybe three of those inhabited.  Lush undergrowth and sapling trees reclaim old foundations.  I ask the woman about the images.  She says the city is going to tear the house down.  The images, I ask again.  She retreats inside, room dim, reply trailing off.  I can’t hear what she says.  I return to the truck under their level gaze, serene in the face of the inevitable.