A Name from a Book
Sophie Nock
My name is that of a woman in a book
long gone from my parents’ shelves.
Yesterday it was about a Russian princess,
today a spy – perhaps both,
they’ll say tomorrow
if I point out the inconsistency.
Had I been a boy
I might never have had a name.
No decision had been made
on what they would call a son.
I wonder if a name has such power
that it began my love of learning;
if a Philosophy degree was in my future
the second the birth certificate was signed.
I should like to find the book
from which my name was borrowed,
but I have far too small a clue.
Others have stories about their naming:
family legacies or tales of woe.
I just have a book, whose title I will never know.