Your name is hard to pronounce.
It gets stuck on my tongue like burst gum bubbles or slides to the back of my throat and catches like phlegm from a bad cold.
It sounds crooked and confused in my mouth even now.
And how the letters sound one way in my mind and the other way in the air…
I try to say it sweetly and remember when I whispered it into your ear, purring with pleasure.
I remember yelling it in the middle of the street one night when I forgot to meet you and your friends but I was the angry one.
And then I remember not saying it with any inflection, not saying anything, while teardrops meshed with raindrops and your arms held my small frame for the last time.
I wanted to believe that something so foreign could be familiar, that it could become mine.
But you were always too hard to pronounce.