Ode to my “first name” Andrew
by Anhvu Buchanan
Out of the loose tongue
of a four year old
you fell to me. Stayed close
like a warm fire. Never
leaving my side, even when
we crossed the country
in a tiny cramped car.
Your smooth two syllable
frame sang sweetly
in the mouth of others.
My mother loved you
even if you weren’t
what she wanted for me.
I was clay
lingering in your hand,
as you shaped me
with your confident fingers.
I know you didn’t mean it
that night everything changed.
My mother handing me
a piece of paper,
a single word written in the center.
“This is your real name”
But you had hid
under the bed,
behind the page,
and instead another name
loomed before me.
I couldn’t keep both of you,
since you each pulled for me
like a game of tug-a-war.
I let you go
knowing someone would come,
knowing someone would claim you.
Anhvu Buchanan’s poems has appeared or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Brush Mountain Review, Silhouette, and Transfer. He lives and writes in San Francisco. He is currently a student in the MFA program at San Francisco State and also serves as poetry editor of Fourteen Hills Literary Magazine.
