I Gave You a Name

First I knew your mother,
before you even were.
I met her as she was crossing the lawn, I met her
as she was resting in the shade of the lilac shrub.
Every time I saw her, she was a bit larger,
a bit heavier, approaching the end of term.
And then, one day, your mother went away,
and hasn’t been seen since.
But what does it matter? You came,
a tiny, spiny, darling little creature,
with your moist black speck of a snout,
twitching,
your diminutive mouth, your teeny teeth,
chewing, chewing,
your little feet, your whiskers, your soft, furry belly.
I gave you a name.
I spoke of you—widely.
I captured you on film.
             I gave you a name!