a named thing

You say my name 

and it makes me think of the first day of summer, 

that old, new warmth,  

slept in sheets nostalgic about the night before. 

Walking in time to a song, 

its beat swinging through my pelvis. 

 

You say my name, 

and it’s like I am finally myself, 

years spent bending flesh into the word denial. 

 

You say my name and suddenly it is something holy, 

a call to the divine within. 

Suddenly I can see the first time my mother whispered it to her rounded belly, 

the first time she had a name for this kind of love. 

 

You say my name and of course,

I am yours. 

But still, 

mine too.