catapult magazine

Baptism

by Amy Carpenter-Leugs

Today you wear
an open mouth and long white
frills and I wear a black

dress which turns my
freckles almost-green
I look rather sick.

We must meet at
church so you can have
water put upon

upon your head as all
of life rushes at that spot
God, you’re in it now.

Though your parents
smile and jiggle you
through it

Though the pastor speaks
of covenant
though

the congregation
sings triumphantly
though

your aunt has bought
you a picture Bible where Jesus’
smile is a simple curved line

I alone am here
(and it is right that I am
the only one)

I alone am here
to mourn for you, to say
I’m so
so sorry.