My Name is Blue

Katie’s name is splashed across
The orange contradicting bottle.
The nickname of a little girl
Who used to laugh at shiny things
Who could share another’s trust.
She had friends
And smiles
And eyes of light.
The name means nothing now.
The little girl is dead.

Katherine’s name
The name of a woman
Emerges, long and proper and stiff.
She tries it on,
For this will be her name.
This is the woman who
Walks quickly,
Hugging her books to her chest,
Eyes darting across unfamiliar faces.
“This is my name.”
She says aloud
As if the rest of the world
Cares to hear.
She owns the name of a woman,
But it does not belong to her.

In Grace’s imagination lies,
Yet another title.
This one timeless, classic, beautiful.
It belongs to a princess
Or a dancer
Or one of those perfect people.
It is not for her.
But in her mind it becomes a wish
For something she cannot have.
So this name remains a quiet thing.
She seldom makes it heard.
But she calls herself by it
As a bittersweet reminder
Of all that was lost.

The color blue
Has rendered me nameless.