The first time I got baptized
was in my backyard, in the small
pool pressed up against the fence.
On the other side were railroad tracks,
and when the train came through
(always fitfully, always without herald),
the sound quaked in our ears,
the ground shook, the windows rattled.
Once I kept my eyes open and saw
the conductor’s face, his light stubble,
the flowing hair, the hint of a smile.
Head submerged, I tried to remember
if the raucousness ever made the water
slosh like the limbs of a drowning man.
I couldn’t do it. Still can’t.
by Matthew J. Andrews
Matthew J. Andrews is a private investigator and writer currently living in Central Iowa. He is the author of The Hours, A Razor’s Edge, and I Close My Eyes and I Almost Remember. He can be contacted at www.matthewjandrews.com.
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