The Power Of A Name

We break through thick, gray clouds and I see innumerable bright lights below,
Shining white from tall silhouettes, jammed into one long, narrow island,
Each warming this frigid night of someone with a name.
Twenty six letters in the alphabet, an infinite number of names.
We all have one, given at birth, before our parents know us.
I walk crowded streets, snow flurrying across the myriad faces in front of me.
A tiny, wrinkled woman, her head wrapped tightly in a worn, red scarf, I call her Amaya.
The darkest skin and whitest teeth of a young man without a coat,
hands shoved in baggy pockets, weaving briskly through bodies, maybe he is Robert.
The ear-muffed girl bouncing beside me calls her brother Billy, and he turns,
pink cheeks and wet nose, smiling at her, as they discover this new city.
A warm, packed restaurant called Angelo’s, an artsy street called Cornelia, an immense cathedral called St. Patrick’s, a solemn monument listing 3,000 names.
Our names announce our existence, introduce us to this world, represent who we are.
The power of a name.