Christianity may be a source of great ritual but it doesn’t hold so much interest for me. As you might imagine, I would have preferred a great animist rite of passage, but we are about 60 or 70 years too late for that!
—James R. Elkins
Bring a body darkly to the light.
The child’s father christens the feast,
his offering to villagers pausing
from work in the rainy-season fields
of Thailand. Passion fruit grows
on a trellis of vines like Kentucky grapes.
There’s jackfruit, passionate after
its own manner, & mushrooms collected
from the jungle by an eighty-year-old
grandmother. Nothing here but
playful optimism, the whole world
one protracted thing-in-itself.
Father & mother offer the infant
for recognition. Lawa elders & ancestors
must know her, admit her into
the company of kinship so she may be
blessed by a name—second name,
meaning more than introductions.
It’s her torch in thickest shade
of underbrush & many wide forests
of her life. Next, a Lawa translation:
Daniel’s courage from King James.
Too young now, the daughter will learn
of this in time. Then, no longer afraid,
she will harvest the sacred crop
family has sown for her this day,
giving her at last her second strength.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
