I delight in etymology —
finding threads and following them back
through the tapestry
to their birth.

The word
which represents myself
was thrust upon me
by my father,
shortened by my mother
(who lives to abbreviate the world),
and nearly lost.

I ignored it,
scorned it,
accepted it,
then adored it.

I went in search of an origin.
But each path led to the same conclusion:
fabrication.
Someone
somewhere
stuck bits and pieces of allsorts
together
into an obscure collage.

So I hacked it into its original fragments
and caught hold of the kernel.
Like Jacob
I refused to let go,
demanding a blessing.

And the stone cried out:
DISCIPLE.

So anointed,
I opened my hands,
embraced the summons
and sat
in humility,
to learn
(like the sister of Martha)
at the feet of the master,
who calls me
by his own name.

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NaPoWriMo 
Day Fourteen

The Prompt:   Write a poem that delves into the meaning of your name.

Eleven years ago I wrote about the origin of my name, “little learner.”
It was fun to take a step back and rework the piece for this challenge.