The Real Didi

“Mortadella! Mortadella!”
Chelsea calls for the cat
from the porch of the Porter Square duplex
where we are roommates
with three other people.
Chelsea is Shelley’s stage name.
She hasn’t acted in years,
but she majored in Theater in college.

Meanwhile, I am changing my own name to Chaim –
or rather, adding it as my Jewish name
since I am converting to Judaism.
“You’ll have to pronounce your name Hhharlez,”
the rabbi jokes, dragging out the throaty start,
the “chet,” the Hebrew letter that starts
my chosen Jewish name Chaim – life! –
to correspond with my worldly name.

Years later, when I become a grandfather,
I choose the name Didi as my grandpa name,
inspired by my cousin Heike’s husband Dietmar.

When we FaceTime with our grandchildren,
who live overseas,
I greet them, Hello, Paloma! Hello, Emilio!
And they cry, Didi! in recognition.
What, after all, is one’s true name?
Who gets to know it
before it’s too late?