Name

An old poem from Fall 2009 in Poetry Sem. Published in Paragon, 2009-2010.

I said
I wrote a poem today.
I used your name, but
I promise, it’s not about you.

You said
I should write about that, and

I asked
what.

My name, you said.

While we talked,
I heard a song about words the world
uses to call these this, and those that.
It had a good build up, and
the lines came with the music:
I wrote about you, not your name.

We wondered
what any of it meant or if
it would be different if your name
was Jack or Tim, Ben or James.
And despite my inherent honesty,
I didn’t say it, but I thought,
your name doesn’t matter,
because I was won before I knew it.

So, instead of asking questions, or admitting
answers, there are other things
we say.

I say
I hate some rules of writing, and wish
I could change them, and
I over-use the words, great and perfect,
I and and—and
I
say
too
much.

You smile, knowing silence elicits
more noise from my ever-moving lips.
We go on, with the talk about me and things
I want to say, that you don’t need to hear.

Then, you start to know more than
you thought you would, when
I was just a name.