What’s In a Name?

By Mo Daley

Have you, like Juliet, ever wondered

what’s in a name?

Take my name, Maureen…please!

I know it’s Gaelic, and I remember the priest

whispering reverently, “Maureen means little Mary”

as if the ten-year-old me might be a reincarnation

of the Virgin herself.

He failed to mention that Maureen also means

bitter.

When people hear Maureen, they think

classic

mature

formal

wholesome

refined

serious.

Let them.

As a child, the only other Maureen I knew

was my kindergarten teacher.

My name reached its peak popularity

between 1946 and 1955-

a full decade before I was born.

Even then, it was only the 88th most popular name

in the U.S.

By 2013, the last year anyone even cared

to track Maureen data,

only 43 of two MILLION babies born

were saddled with the moniker Maureen.

Apparently, I haven’t stood the test of time.

So, is that it?

Am I doomed to a life of irrelevance

because (I suspect) my parents needed a rhyme for Christine and Arlene?

Can I, in fact, smell just as sweet by any other name?

Maureen, Star of the Sea, beloved one

can change her modus operandi

and be who she wants to be.

She can be mo’ if she wants.

She can be like molybdenum-Mo-

a transitional metal essential for life and resistant to corrosion.

She can just be Mo.

By Mo Daley 4/8/23

Something you should know

is that I love regaling new friends and old

with stories of the things I can’t smell

like middle-school farts,

cottage water reeking of rotten eggs,

and skunk-drenched schnauzer

or the foods I can’t taste,

like long-forgotten garlic,

a sharp cheddar,

and the subtle oaken notes of a buttery chardonnay.

But what I don’t share are the stories about

the bedsores awarded me from an incompetent surgeon

as I lay immobile for twelve days,

or the fear in my son’s eyes when he was asked

if he wanted to learn how to inject me with antibiotics,

or the months of rehab that shattered my body

so that I could put it back together again,

Humpty Dumpty like.

And I definitely don’t talk about

the terror in my husband’s eyes

as he tried to picture a life without me.

Because that would be unbearable.