A string of letters that I answer to
"Hey, you," is enough to get my attention.
There have been people who tried to call me crueler things,
Words I would not answer to,
Because they do not define me.
Motherhood was not the first time my name changed,
But it was the first time I chose my name
"Mama's got you," I whispered as I held you close.
Mom is fine, mother- a bit formal
Mommy sounds whiny, but I'd answer to it,
Mama is the name I chose,
It fits, gentle and snug.
When you came to me and held out your name,
You shared with me a new one,
(I will always choose you)
Shakespeare asked, "What's in a name?"
And Anne (with an 'e') wondered, "if a Rose was called a Skunk Cabbage, could it still smell as sweet?"
And the answer, I think, is simple.
Is the same as "Who are you?"
Only the bearer can know how well a name fits;
If it sums up who they are,
If they believe of themselves the sounds of the letters strung together like so many beads.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
It will only answer to what it knows to be true.
No matter your name; he, she, ambiguous they, or royal we,
I love you; body, mind, and soul.