Florence

           I think my name means Flower; my mother can’t remember. Bright and sunny, my name blooms all day. When I am alone I often say my name as “florencia,”how they pronounce it in Italy. Or “Floorance,” which is how they pronounce in France.  I like to say my name with an accent because it makes me feel rare and exotic. Like a rare bulb I’m bursting full of life. There are many beautiful flowers of names in the world, but what other smells of rich 1920’s perfume in spring and is brown until blooming an hysterical electric pink?   

I am named after my grandmother, Florence Poyner. She is strong and brilliant; never does the sun wilt her petals or draw from her electric pink pigment. She has a mind of her own, stubborn at times, but a loving creature. Her grace and strength often awe me. I look up to her and am glad to have her name. Yet in the past the pulling of my grandfather has wilted her stem. My grandmother couldn’t be more in love with Opera, but was not able to listen to it until my grandfather died. It was simple, he just didn’t like opera, and therefore she just never listened to it. When she goes to the Opera she twinkles with the dusts of stars and her roots are lifted up out of the ground and the sky eats her whole. How could she hold back for so long?

Flo, Hello, go, so, mo, Joe, You name it, and it rhymes with Flo. Flo is tart and very smart, not to mention very unusual. I mean you should see the responses I get from people when I tell them that my name is Flo. Also, it takes people a really long time to figure out my real name is Florence, unless I tell them of course.  “Which do you prefer, Flo or Florence?” Now that’s a decision! Florence is too long and Flo is too weird! Don’t get me wrong, I love my name, but when your name is Flo your just stand out a little. My parents were going to name me Taylor, which I also like very much. Yet, Florence is just right for me. This is because like my name, I’m different, Electric Pink and indefinable.