Fanny Linguistics: Nickole

What people don't know about my name
is that my grandmother gave me that "k"
—my very own unexpected
consonant—
those two strong arms and two strong legs,
that broom-handle spine—
that letter about no one with a name
same as mine has.

A mis-
spelling, really—
the same botched phonetics of all her
girls' names,
misspelled but fancy

as chandeliers—Latonna Lee, Candies La Rayne, Lesi Annett
—names that know never to drink
lemon water from a silver fingerbowl

but names that can be bobbed with a "y"
and cheerlead.

Now, she called me Koey, so don't expect me to respond
to the first nasal tone of my name
but the harsher cough

that follows, that typo tambourined
from the back of the throat. I'll answer to cold & coal & coke,
sometimes

even hear that sound as a scoop of coco, something dry
from the tin, but warmed with a little sugar and milk, a name
snowing
while it's safe inside.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: name
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