Christening Poem by Don Pearson

We have whispered in this quiet peace.
The full moon’s in the South.
Exploration. Long, slow, unhurried,
Across smooth rolling hills and valleys.
My hands move in the river
in time to the music
of our voices.
I slip from the pool,
anoint the goddess,
pat her, stroke her,
smooth her skin,
kiss her, tease her.

The goddess arises,
throws back her cloak,
basks in adoration.
Now I breathe the incense
among the trees.
I sip at the water,
begin the incantation,
speak in tongues,
ululating, sibilant,
arcane but answered.
I write alphabets,
magic numbers,
quick brown foxes,
lazy dogs,
names of god.
You utter the responses
quietly, loudly,
quickly, slowly,
muttered, sighed,
shouted, as if in pain,
whispered, as if at peace.

The deity has been placated.
She has been granted life eternal.
As the morning star fades
at last, I bathe in the Jordan.
We baptise one another
and sink slowly beneath the waves,
leaving gentle ripples.

June/Aug 2001