A Series of Fortunate Laments
Naming a person is a careful business,
like making a machine that labels you
everyday.
If our naming skills are any
measure, we would make terrible
watchmakers -- just guessing
at how the gears should go.
Example: we looked at the dog
and dubbed him "Sam." No tight springs,
no calibration. Sam.
People sometimes have a milk name,
given by their biological
mother, the secret name,
the one a wizard
could use, a dust,
a potion.
Our mom, not being our
biological mother, took
the names of her sisters
and gave them to us
as if to say: there,
you're one of us.
When my friend was born, they
named him after his
older brother, who,
as a toddler, died eating
leftover pills. His name
is no tick tock watch or song
or waving flag. It is a lament.
They call it out to him
all the time.
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