Mother didn’t know

when she named me

that Wilda means

“the wild one.”

 

Maybe that’s why

she said, “don’t go

out of the yard,”

and was surprised

when I wandered off

across a weedy field

toward town, chilled

my toes in ripples

of the forbidden creek,

climbed to the flimsy top

of the locust tree.

 

By the time I went

half-continent away

to college, I was tired

of what I’d been called

as a child, chose

my new nickname,Wendy.

Honest, I didn’t know

its ancient denotation:

“the wanderer.”

 

Now it’s my daughters

telling me go this far

and no farther. “Surely

you didn’t climb the pyramid

at Chichen Itza.

You might have fallen

down crumbling steps.”

“No! You’re not going

to Ghana next spring!

Really, Mother!”

 

- Wilda Morris