I Have Called You By Name

I

From the pram,

the world is marks without markings.

All blurs into sameness.

Sky mottles into leaf and unknown faces.

There is only the vision of her,

with features clear and eyes smiling.

My joys and wonders splash out in wordless babble.

I point at the dappled beds of hazy colour and exclaim.

She, my only guide, points with me

and names them

Hydrangeas.

II

What is a name?

Noma, nama, naam, nomen, onema, name.

In every tongue it stays the same.

All it says is ‘they said so’,

and asks you say the same.

To name is to discern:

That is that,

and not this.

To name is to call to attention:

Amy!

To name is to call into attention:

Those are hydrangeas.

To name is to claim:

This is a hydrangea.

To name is to claim:

I have called you by name, you are mine.

What is in a name?

Only the call to stop and smell

the hydrangeas.

​

III

In solitude, I point inward and have no guide,

I am wordless babble.

I prattle to no hearer.

I am silent.

I exclaim, but cannot name –

I am alone.

Hydrangeas beckon

and the many pointing hands of strangers

in our sunlight,

and sometimes our eyes meet over passing prams.

They might know my questions.

What is this unmarked mark with in me?

Nostalgia.

That is that.

​

~

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This poem is part of a project titled, 'Tell Me How You Really Feel'.

See the rest of the project here.