Friday, February 20, 2015

Rachel Pietrewicz

Rachel Pietrewicz

On the first day of my last year of high school,
my Physics teacher takes attendance.
Eighth block,
eighth time listening to a teacher stumble
and stutter when their eyes land on my name
and their mouth tries to shape the letters into words.
I sigh quietly and brace myself for that one moment
that comes at the beginning of every class.
When my Physics teacher's voice breaks the smooth stride
of the Smiths and the Johnsons and the Wilsons,
I am ready.
It's “pee-etch-true-wits,” I tell him
before he even gets the first syllable out.
My classmates laugh, as they always do,
Mr. Rogers looks relieved, as teachers always do,
I slide further down in my seat, as I always do.

It's difficult to embrace
and accept
a name that no one can pronounce
or spell
or shorten into a convenient nickname.
I have spent too many hours of my life
repeating the spelling of my name
to teachers and doctors and reporters and bankers.
P as in Paul, I, E.
T as in Tom, R, E.
W, I, C, Z. Charlie, Zebra, yes we have finally reached the end.

“I'll just call you Rachel,”
everyone always says, shifting uncomfortably.
Because the ten letters that make up my surname
are arranged in a combination
that baffles intelligent people
and complicates simple situations.

*****
Yes, this is a poem called Rachel Pietrewicz written by Rachel Pietrewicz. :) I wrote this at the workshop, where everyone was assigned to write a poem with their name as the title. To be honest, I don't usually mind when people mess up my name, but I channeled those occasional moments of annoyance and ended up with this.

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