“Saying Our Names”
by Marianne Murphy Zarzana
Notice how just one syllable -
say Jack - can expand and become
the world, round and whole,
when it is a child's name
being formed by a mother's mouth.
I've overheard women in stores and airports
restaurants and trains, sprinkling their talk
with the name of a brand new baby or
a grown child - Morgen, Hora
Michael, Kyle, Joseph, Ava-Rose.
They sing each vowel and consonant
so the name stands out, resonates,
a pure bell, whether the tone struck
is a major key, proud and strong,
or a diminished minor note.
Sometimes, when my daughter catches
her own name, Elaine May, part of a story
I am telling a sister over the phone,
later she'll ask, quasi-annoyed,
were you talking about me?
Yes, endlessly, shamelessly, I tell stories
about you. I say those fluid syllables,
chosen for the meaning - light -
and to honor your grandmothers,
chosen discarding countless names.
Yes, I say them again and again and wonder
at the world they have become. Is this
how God says our names? Is this why sometimes
when I hear the wind rustling through the trees,
I turn and listen?