Later, no one knew who named him.
No one cared, and the name
blended with his face in the mirror
and the springs under his chair
repeated it over dinner.
He wore it the way one wears a scar
or a mole. He wore it
until it was no more
than a taste in his mouth
that he couldn’t wash out.
I nicknamed him. I christened him
Worm. Later, it was the link
between us: my guilt, his hate.
He would dream of getting back,
but a nickname never caught,
not even in his head. If he said,
snail, moth, spider, scorpion,
these would become slimy, winged
eight-legged words, meant for me
but ringing in his head
like the clear bell of his childhood.
Some nights he would dream
of everyone sobbing in repentance,
dream the sparrow landing on his finger
and flying off with his nickname.
He saw the cockroach on its back
kicking and dying like a name,
he walked to the window and saw
the darkness stretching like a yawn
and wakened, and awake he went
to the mirror and the name was there,
blended with his face. The name was also
in his throat, a bitter taste
that he couldn’t wash out.
The name was all around him:
it was the air
he was breathing to stay alive.
(Ernesto Trejo)
More Poetry from Ernesto Trejo:
Ernesto Trejo Poems based on Topics: Night, Name, Dreams, Faces, Childhood, Sense & Perception, Hatred- Entering A Life (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
- A Death In The Family (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
- The Cloud Unfolding (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
- The Arch Of The Sky Dream (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
- This Is What Happened (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
- E. At The Zocalo (Ernesto Trejo Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Night Poems, Faces Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Dreams Poems, Name Poems, Hatred Poems, Childhood PoemsBased on Keywords: nickname, cockroach, nicknamed