"My Name" Sandra Cisneros: The Power of Name

In “My Name”  Esperanza, a  Mexican-American girl describes what her name means to her and how it is perceived by others. In the poem the narrator says “At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth” She describes her name as the number nine or a muddy color and give insight to what the names means in the context of her family. Esperanza feel defined by her name and that definitions driver her to desire a different name. The names she chooses are names she feels accurately depicts the person she is one the inside.

Esperanza wants a name that doesn’t “hurt the roof of the mouth” but she also wants a name that does not demonstrate weakness. Her great-grandmother was a wild woman who was tamed against her will. And she sat by the window and dreamed of freedom outside her domestic cage. In the Mexican culture, like many other cultures, women are put in the subordinate position; their roles domestic and don’t stem much further than that. Esperanza doesn’t want to have a life where she is submissive to anyone and her name for her has the power to determine the possibility of that happening.

Sandra Cisneros’s poem “My Name”, an excerpt from The House on Mango Street is a beautiful and insightful poem. Cisneros’s piece does a commendable job at pointing out the power that naming has. Names can build walls or fuel insecurities they can also build confidence and give people the permission to succeed. Names can be jam-packed with history and meaning and the can help identify a person's culture or ancestry.

 

I was really inspired by this poem. I was so inspired that I decided to compose a poem about my name with the same concept of Sandra Cisneros's poem.

Seven Letters

I am the first born child of my family.

When I was born my father thought long and hard of how

to make his name apart of my name.

So like surgeon he stitched and sutured together

parts of names and the product was my name.

 

Its choppy and blocky; tongues trip over it

and its falls clumsily out of mouths.

Its the purple and yellow and bruises the palate.

 

When it walks into a room it brings assumptions and stereotypes with it.

It bring the image of street corners and beauty supply stores;

Drive-thrus at fast food restaurants and loud conversations.

 

For some it isn’t the name of some who strives but for someone who settles.

It’s name of self induced struggle and minimum wage;

Shady Gentlemen’s clubs and the woman on “trash TV”.

 

I often wish I was named after a gem or a greek muse.

I wish my name was the color of sunshine;

Or the warmth of the first day of spring.

 

If I could I would nip and tuck and do away with the first two letters.

But I can’t so i’ll just take away it’s perception and give it new meaning

I’ve carried it for so long and for a while it felt like a burden;

It  was only a burden because I carried it’s false meaning as well.

 

Now it’s a as light as a feather.

Now I see it is only seven letters.