Annie Nannie Anita — Anne
For four generations, someone in my mother’s family
Was named Anne.
Born into a family of women,
Born with a hand-me-down name,
In the end, I was the only one never to suffer a nickname.
For just one day, just once
My grandfather called me his little Nancy
And I felt special, unique, only, new.
And yet, when I order my
Frappuccinos with whipped cream at Starbucks now,
I tell them my name is Lucy.
PHOTOGRAPH: Anne Borne in her very own personal district of Barcelona, Spain (2009).
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My name is too short. I always wanted something lingering, graceful. It was only when Ian Fleming’s stories took hold that I realized my name sounded like a spy. Born, Anne Born. I don’t care for Martinis, but if I did, I would like them shaken, not stirred.
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