BAPTISM

When my daughter was very young,

she drew disembodied faces

lolling in daytime skies.

Once, though, she drew a night scene,

with no floating face, adding sequins,

so the stars shined.

She had even titled it, which

made me very proud.

Big clumsy letters said

T H E   B I G   D I P E R.

And here I'd thought those days

were flushed forever.

I wished she'd gotten it right,

to impress the masses.

And then decided, to hell with that.

In part, because I could see the

handle, a mother's arm, and the

bucket, a baby's full load.

Who decided it's a ladle up there?

Childlike, I pouted, “who says!?”

This was just the first of many

maternal conversions.

Children are a funky religion

dipping you into places you've

never before seen or smelled,

constellations all their own.

Copyright Julianza Shavin 2009