Kara Knickerbocker
Etymology of a Middle Name
after Airea D. Matthews
Rose— of Latin origin, rosa, meaning fragrant flower,
meaning my mother bloomed with me until I came out,
pink & right for the world, the last precious baby
dangling on the branch of our family tree, because after
my brother & before me there was a seed that only bled
where it was planted, never grew into a face, or name,
& they crowned me Rosie, because my cheeks flush redder
than they should be from petaling my way back to the womb,
drunk-blushed attempts to stay long-stemmed, always wild &
because a daughter is a beautiful thing, my mother tells me
though I know the letters sound more lovely in her mouth.
O, Rose that grew from the concrete, rose into a woman—
I wonder if she will ever accept there are thorns around my hips
not by nature but by my own doing, if she fully knows
I’ve buried bouquets from lovers because what other pretty hurt
do you know that both stalks the living & adorns all the dead?
*Link to Airea D. Matthews' poem: https://poets.org/poem/etymology
Rose— of Latin origin, rosa, meaning fragrant flower,
meaning my mother bloomed with me until I came out,
pink & right for the world, the last precious baby
dangling on the branch of our family tree, because after
my brother & before me there was a seed that only bled
where it was planted, never grew into a face, or name,
& they crowned me Rosie, because my cheeks flush redder
than they should be from petaling my way back to the womb,
drunk-blushed attempts to stay long-stemmed, always wild &
because a daughter is a beautiful thing, my mother tells me
though I know the letters sound more lovely in her mouth.
O, Rose that grew from the concrete, rose into a woman—
I wonder if she will ever accept there are thorns around my hips
not by nature but by my own doing, if she fully knows
I’ve buried bouquets from lovers because what other pretty hurt
do you know that both stalks the living & adorns all the dead?
*Link to Airea D. Matthews' poem: https://poets.org/poem/etymology
Commentary
Kara on "Etymology of a Middle Name":
I first heard the poem “etymology” by Airea D. Matthews, which this poem is after, when she read it on the podcast VS with Franny Choi and Danez Smith last fall. Like some poems do, it unconsciously became buried in my brain. It’s no secret that this past year has been an intense one— the pandemic has forced us to reflect on everything, to really sit with ourselves and all that we are and are not. And, having just entered my third decade of life, I feel like I’m in this delicate space where I’m no longer a child, of course, but because I’m not blossoming into the expectations of my mother or of society (I’m not married, I don’t want children, I’m a wanderer, etc. ) I’m not a woman— hence the lines, “petaling my way back to the womb, / drunk-blushed attempts to stay long-stemmed, always wild.” Though our poems are vastly different, I remembered Airea’s poem: the weight a name holds, and what language can do. My middle name, Rose, carries with it so many connotations of beauty and love, and at the time, I couldn’t identify further from those things. It wasn’t until a couple months ago that something split open and this piece poured out, nearly already fully-formed. This is an autobiographical poem that is my way of grappling with this notion, and pushing back. It is growing against the idea of not only a name and what it means, but a daughter/woman and who she should be.
I first heard the poem “etymology” by Airea D. Matthews, which this poem is after, when she read it on the podcast VS with Franny Choi and Danez Smith last fall. Like some poems do, it unconsciously became buried in my brain. It’s no secret that this past year has been an intense one— the pandemic has forced us to reflect on everything, to really sit with ourselves and all that we are and are not. And, having just entered my third decade of life, I feel like I’m in this delicate space where I’m no longer a child, of course, but because I’m not blossoming into the expectations of my mother or of society (I’m not married, I don’t want children, I’m a wanderer, etc. ) I’m not a woman— hence the lines, “petaling my way back to the womb, / drunk-blushed attempts to stay long-stemmed, always wild.” Though our poems are vastly different, I remembered Airea’s poem: the weight a name holds, and what language can do. My middle name, Rose, carries with it so many connotations of beauty and love, and at the time, I couldn’t identify further from those things. It wasn’t until a couple months ago that something split open and this piece poured out, nearly already fully-formed. This is an autobiographical poem that is my way of grappling with this notion, and pushing back. It is growing against the idea of not only a name and what it means, but a daughter/woman and who she should be.
Biography
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Kara Knickerbocker (she/her) is the author of the chapbooks The Shedding Before the Swell (dancing girl press, 2018) and Next to Everything that is Breakable (Finishing Line Press, 2017). Her poetry and essays have appeared in or are forthcoming from: Poet Lore, HOBART, Levee Magazine, Portland Review, and the anthologies Pennsylvania’s Best Emerging Poets, Crack the Spine, and more. She writes with the Madwomen in the Attic at Carlow University, and co-curates the MadFridays Reading Series. Find her online at www.karaknickerbocker.com or on Twitter @karaknick.
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