Claire – too plain a name to describe,
too simple to remember.
Just when someone tells me
that my name is French for clear,
my thoughts drift to
a blank sheet of
white crisp paper;
still smells like the wood,
but tastes like first grade.

My mom wanted to name me Emily,
a suitable name; it was my grandmother’s,
whom I never met.
So when I think on it, I realize
It’s like a maze of open doors
each leading to a different path
of possibility – but too many to open,
not enough to fill up or close.
The unsureness would leave me in a corner
of a dark closet. Maybe
It’s one of those awful doors.

My name is purple, its brown curls
hitting itself in the face.
It’s defiant, yet not powerful
As it tries to stamp out the light
The darkness of the closet I’m in
screams, constantly calling out
my name.

By Claire, 7th Grade
[photo by allen_entertainment via flickr]

This poem is featured as part of the 2009 A Poem A Day campaign, a National Poetry Month celebration by WITS that features a different poem by a WITS student every day during April. Click on the logo to the left to learn more.