So I’m a substitute teacher, which means I’m constantly having to walk into a room full of kids I don’t know and read their names out loud and of course sometimes I mess them up and I always feel a little bad and they sometimes get pretty upset and thus springs this poem.
Sorry I got your name wrong reading the attendance list.
Sorry I got your ee as an ah
and sorry the class laughed
although neither of us found it funny.
Sorry I reshuffled the grouping of letters
synonymous with you since birth.
Sorry I used your first name, Samuel,
somehow painful to you
for reasons that are hidden to me
and will never be revealed and
you prefer Jake.
Sorry I couldn’t take context clues and realize
India, S R I isn’t sree it’s shree
or China, your x is sh
and all those little sounds
that make up the label of you.
Sorry you sighed or rolled your eyes
or angrily corrected me
because this is the hundredth, thousandth time
misread the most straightforward symbol
in a place where it can be so elusive
clawing to be formed.
Sorry I cannot look at your name on paper
and know you,
cannot read your history with my fingertips
on the ink of your surname
cannot feel your mother or your father
or what your front lawn looks like in that
conjunction of consonants and vowels.
Sorry I don’t know you and you don’t know me
and when I leave all I’ll be
is the one who got you wrong,
who looked at you
and spoke the name of a stranger
and asked that you raise your hand.