Interpellation

give me a name & i’ll answer

         whenever a mother calls it out across the park

wanting only her child & not some tired queen

         sitting alone on a bench with a bottle

in a brown paper bag. but still i stand

         when hailed & say excuse me ma’am, did you call?

& if not, what shall i do now i’m here?

names i’ve taken inside me like mouths

         full of stale bread. sip of water names

on airplanes over water. biblical names like a bridle.

         slurs like a bride.

                      names i’ve bled out into clean bathrooms.

names i’ve assumed & ones others assumed

         were mine. he calls me baby & i am

preverbal & unvaccinated. boy,

         & i was. daddy & i split in half

like a common fish. pig & i slit my own throat.

in the throws a name can be a chicken bone

         or burning piano in the throat

calling down something larger

         into the bed or car or bathroom or

say my name & they all join us here,

                         all the sams before me & all the sams

to come. say bitch

         & my mouth floods with painted dogs.

every christ, christian, jonathan.

         every lover, in one body. who i mean

when i say you. you made of letters.

                        you sobbing behind the wheel

of your sobbing car. you showing up

         unannounced at my door.

when i say you up at four in the morning.

         when i say of youth i was never young.

if ever i texted too late begging

                        for something ugly, forgive me.

i meant only to address the eternal

         beloved, who i thought was, for a moment,

haunting your phone. i who have been

         addressed & became. have lain

with men who never bothered

         with names & still, when it comes

time for it they always find

         something to say.