It still fits, eleven years later
LookSee what I hold in my handsNot a full something, yetUntil I name it. Until it is named.What I call is will make it realBalancing the name,Carrying the name,Wearing the name,Becoming or disavowing the name,Until, eventually, forgotten,It falls apart from memory.LookWhat I name it has it's own powerBe it meek and mildor strong and fierce The naming carries weightAnd what I give it nowWill last a lifetimeAnd maybe moreIt will be up to the named.LookBe witty or obtuseSymbolical or Syllable drivenContrived or BiblicalNew Aged or TraditionalistWhat is named becomes realThe reality is completeThe character is yet to be setWhere do we go from here?
Tale Spinning 
That is a good poem. Some cultures believe a name must be earned over time, it can’t be given as a designation at birth. (You’re “child of such and such,” or whatever.)
I had a productive month reading for a read-a-thon, writing a few book reviews, checking in with hospitalized family members, and writing a WEP flash fiction.
Have you seen the notebook on the current (Aug 25) giveaway at Operation Awesome? That is some amazing custom art. Debut authors are always surprising me.
I’m ready for the summer heat to be over. 🥵
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