I.

In ancient Greek, my name has origins
in the word for bees – honeybees,
and the honey itself. These days I have
come to understand what that means:
that I am heavy on the tongue,
best washed with water,
sweet for many, good with bread
and butter.
 
II.

My dad tells me I was named after a singer,
and my mother wanted to name me Georgia,
which comes from Georgiana,
which comes from George,
which means farmer.
I know nothing about crops, only seasons
and how to close my eyes at night, five years old,
and hope I grow –
and how to close my eyes at night, twenty-four years old,
and hope I grow –
 
III.

In the Filipino tradition
we take our mother’s maiden name
and scoot it behind our middle name
as a reminder that we came from a woman
who came from a man. Maybe this is why
I didn’t get Gonzalo
after Anne – or maybe it was just a mouthful.
But I’ve been told my full name is Melissa Anne,
no hyphen,
which means there is a blank space.

I want to fill it with grace
the way Mary filled Batangas
with showers of roses
and said, do not be afraid.
 
IV.

The only time I wanted to be called something else
was the first time you called me love.
 
V.

The more names I have
the more I feel like I have a story—
Gonzalo and Tolentino
and Therese, from my confirmation
clinking glasses with God,
not church
and Villanueva.

It means new settler:
the day I was born new, an icicle
that melted slowly with the heat
of the world and the words
of men.
 
VI.

The soft s in Melissa
comes from the soft s
in disorder
from the quiet laughter
of snakes
after all of the apples
are gone.