What is my name?

Was it given to me at birth

The perspective of my parent

Their collective history

Or the passing of time


What do the trees call me

When I pass by their brothers

Run my hands through the leaves

Do they give me a name?


What of those I have not met

Those who’ve seen me in passing

But did not ask what they might call me

Do they give me a name?


Am I a collection of names unknown?

Aren’t we all in some way?

Some of us name ourselves

But is that ever our name?


Can we ever truly be sure of our name?

What do the birds call me as they fly by?

Or the tadpoles who scurry as I lean over a pond to skip stones.


Do they have a name?

The stones, the tadpoles, the birds, the trees are they without names?

Do we give them their names?


Are names projects we created

Or are they prizes that are earned

Or gifts that are given? I do not know

But what is my name?

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