I used to dislike my name, Erin,
it was so odd, and new to the times,
a really bad rhyme, two syllables
that befuddled teachers and friends.
Ervin, Erwin, Arvin, Evan, I didn’t laugh, then,
it hurt to be such an unknown blend.

I grew up in uncomplicated times, I thought,
mid-Wisconsin in the 70’s shined, sublimed,
complicated names were frequent in the weekly paper.
Families such as Gelhaus, Kleutsch and Fuchs,
progressing to Trawicki, Leilhleitner, all sorts of
Meiers (Meyers), Myers, Shillings, Werners, Wadzinski,
Nelsons, Swanson, Jablonsky’s and Metz’s,
it was normal. I wasn’t instilled with the stigma
ordained by names, though I was a Kelly.

I’ve traveled, some, read newspapers, literature,
can see how stereotypes came to be, I’m lucky,
my mind just doesn’t see how a name can so maim,
why some view imaged blight, we are all people.
Hitler taught us that. Is it so necessary to hate
our hidden selves? Do we have to create…antagonism?

What’s in a name?

A heart, beating; body, feeding;
family, keeping; a human being.
Mind, beseeching; heaven, reaching;
wonder-seeking human soul.

Fragile spirits ascertained by different names,
it is unwarranted, defames our race,
despair runs in my veins because of venal faces.

The world is smaller in the Now, caged
by cosmic Plow, we see the lines, it takes time
to rack our ways, there needs to be a willingness
to follow common sense. There’s a Baca next door,
and a Padilla, friends of mine; my child blonde
as light, the other’s hair dark from Mexican nights.
Chavez had gone to war, Desuaniers’ teach school.
Rodriquez, Land and Lockwood head the obits,
grandkids inter-mixed and playing sports, no man
is pure of Time, if learning conquers rhyme.

My name is Erin Moen.

What’s in a name?

Erin Moen
10/22/03
Copyright 2003 ©