designate (v).


Who decided on the naming of things?
There isn’t just one word
that can explain on its own
the colors of sadness, or
the itchiness of longing. There are
so many different kinds of tired, like
the tiredness that comes from
physicality and the tiredness that
comes from being in the wrong
place for too long. There need to be
different names for the varying
degrees of home, as in, the place
where I store my belongings, as in,
the place in which I take refuge,
as in, the group of people with
whom I am the most free and safe.

I can’t name you a lesson
though I have learned things,
or name you a warning, though
there are things that we could have
gone without, or give you a name
that is in past tense, neatly tucked
away in history by the verbiage;
you are to me still present, here,
still your socks are folded in the
way I fold socks and not gathered
the way you prefer, still here
is a mug that you were the last
to clean, still here readily
is the swell in my chest when
all the names for you come
rushing too quickly and often.