A Namesake Poem

common though they may be
a name is a secret thing
private
like the down between a woman’s thighs
or the emotions of a taciturn man

charged with meaning
but abused by repetition
something like reliving memories
till they grow stale

an introduction
a name and occupation or factoid
dropped like quarters
into a styrofoam cup
is a gorgeous thing
a key in its respective junk drawer
unimportant till it isn’t

a name can be a caressing touch
that coaxes the flower to open
or a knife
that cuts the petals free
leaving them to the mercy of the wind
or the pressure of an angry boot





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