2008 September 10 poem: NAME

NAME

Sometimes now when I wake up I have to ask myself not only
"What day is it?" or "Where am I?" but
"Who am I?" or "What is my name?" I know
I'm not Franny Dean any more, haven't been for a
long time but still I feel more like her than like
"Mrs. Smith," which is what everyone here
calls me; Mr. Smith is long gone but of course I'm still the
mother of some of his daughters, so
I guess that's not really wrong. The thing is, though, I'm
the mother of someone else's daughter too, whose name
I never took but who changed me for life. francEyE, that's
who I am but in this institutional setting being constantly called by
the
name on my paper records I tend after a while to respond to it as if
it were me. When I just need my pajamas or to be hooked up to the
oxygen tank who cares what my name is? I guess having some
complications to keep in mind regarding what I am called might be
helping me to keep my mind alert, as they say these games of
"Trivia" and "Bingo" do; it would be good to
think so anyhow. Anyway tomorrow I am going away for a while
with a few others; I think I will teach all my companions my
real name, francEyE. Who knows - maybe I will learn some of
their real names too.