No longer call me by the name my mother gave me, br something simple, sounding pretty, not too deep; br my father, thinking his way darkly, tried to save me, br and hid away my name for me to find and keep. br br In baby-blanket pink she had me swaddled - br I wore it, bore it, clouded by a cloak br defining and confining me, then hobbled br asleep inside the garment, I awoke. br br Just as the Nile divides and slides into its delta, br it has forgotten how it swirls and tumbles through br its southern cataracts and crags, runs helter-skelter, br fed, ever-changing by the rains, but can’t stay true br br to names we give it. Recognize the seasons; br we alter with our losses, loves, the coat br of many changing hues we chose for reasons br embedded in our source now faint, remote. br br Young Jacob woke from restless hours of tossing, dreaming, br and named the stone that marked his coming transformation; br when years had passed, returning to his brook augmented, streaming, br he took the name that he had earned with pain, his nation. br br Naomi too, bereft, said, “Call me Mara, ’ br with insight that redeemed her from the pit br of self inflicted pity, as with Sara, br and Joseph casting off his coat, spot-lit br br by crystal judgment, visionary taking stock br of streams that were a-changing; Jabbok flowing fast br into the Jordan….. Girl to woman, br I unlock br the name my father gave me, br Leah, br found at last.