I pointed to the name tag on my desk.
“That’s not how you spell my name.”

Teacher brought the class list, knelt 
beside me. “Let’s find you.”

She ran her finger down the list. “There
you are. GWENETH. Do you go by Gwen?”

“No.” Teacher sighed. “Please sit down.
We can fix it later if we need to.”

I sat. Teacher called the class to order.
First grade began. That afternoon

I told Mom what happened, asked
“Why did you name me Gwyneth?”

While her hands folded laundry,
she spoke of her grandparents,

born in Welsh coal mining towns 
called Treherbert and Merthyr Tydfil.

She told me my name meant
 bright, fair, happy, blessed.

“You know how we say ‘nos da’
at bedtime? That’s Welsh for good-night.”

Then Mom called the school, politely
told Teacher, “My daughter knows

how to spell her name.”