To Be & To Become

A poem about the personality of a name

I don’t know why — it’s such a surprise still, after forty-odd years, when someone says “Alison.” Alisons are bubbly and bright, the social ambassadors of the schoolyard, not the girl in the corner scribbling in notebooks. I would have preferred to be named “Elizabeth” after my grandmother, the other contender as a label for me — the name of a queen.

I don’t know why my parents named me as they did; the answer, when asked, has never been fixed. It might just have been a trend, a word whispered on the edge of my parents’ consciousness, something that worked its way into their dreams while my mother was nauseous for six months with morning sickness. A name that was birthed onto the certificate with no conscious decision-making process other than a vague feeling on their part. Or perhaps it was just their wish for me, a wish to become an ambassador to reach others.

Shakespeare would have called me a rose, and I am inspired by the mutability of what might have been. For a while, I borrowed my middle name to act as the definition of me — Akiko — Japanese name of “autumn child.” It fits the sharp angles of my personality better, I thought. The beauty found in the hard “K” of the non-English term. My mother’s family: is Japanese-American. It was important to have this secret, the hidden part of her heritage passed down to her mixed-race daughters. She, herself, grew up in post-war racism of World War II. I’ve been called names that shouldn’t be repeated, but she was called much worse.

But the name I’ve embraced as wholly mine that cannot be taken away is more used, yet more personal still: the title of “Mom.” I hear it spoken across playgrounds, at the grocery store, in the library, and in the quiet, confined spaces of my home. I know my daughter’s voice and tone when she says it, the shades of her love as she embraces the word “Mom” with her tongue and teeth, the small throat that issues the one-syllable sound. I have found a name not wrong or hidden, but one that I wear openly and that no one — no one — can take away from me.

Shakespeare’s line: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” was part of the inspiration for this poem.

What is your name, and what does it mean to you? If you’re inspired, I’d love to read a poem by you about how your name defines you or doesn’t define you. Or if you’ve already written a poem like that, please let me know in the comments and share the link.

Thanks so much for reading!

I’d like to showcase an “open mic” of poems that I’ve read recently and really enjoyed. Please check out these fabulous poems and poets:

Warren Brown’s poem sees everyone as having many great stories to tell.

Joy Wallsten’s poem shows us the beautiful & cyclical nature of gratitude.

Christina Daniels’s description of the season of fall brings it vividly to life.