Rituals of a Quasi-Pagan Childhood
I remember clearly the day I was baptized:
how I scowled at the smiling cheerleader in the front pew,
unrepentant of my dislike,
the crispness of the white cotton gown and the tepid water.
But most of all,
I remember,
after the service, shaking hands with strangers,
the gift of a pair of white moccasins, leather, with embroidery.
And how I wore them to shreds
in a summerful of rain dances to Jesus.
I remember clearly the day I was baptized:
how I scowled at the smiling cheerleader in the front pew,
unrepentant of my dislike,
the crispness of the white cotton gown and the tepid water.
But most of all,
I remember,
after the service, shaking hands with strangers,
the gift of a pair of white moccasins, leather, with embroidery.
And how I wore them to shreds
in a summerful of rain dances to Jesus.