Monday, October 16, 2017

I Could Have Been Carol Hotchpotch

Fr. hocher: to move irregularly up & down,
                 to shake
Br. hotchpotch: variant of hodgepodge,
                        a mutton stew with vegetables

Because my grandmother began as a Hodge
I was given this unfortunate middle name,
the origin of much ridicule all through school —

not Georgie Porgie but Hodgie Podgie
puddin’ ‘n pie — to my recollection
no one ever tried to kiss me. I wore

dresses sprigged or plaid, smocked & sashed
so the boys could yank loose the bow
& force me to ask the teacher to retie it.

My family told the story of a stowaway
orphan who arrived in New York from France
& how one of our fathers looked at the satin,

ribbons, & lace & chose to adopt her.
Just like a fairy tale the oldest son
fell in love & married her despite

everyone’s objection. They blamed all
subsequent family flaws on this nameless girl
including the cousin they called a Jezebel

whose neglected daughter had to be adopted
& even then turned out badly. What’s worse —
to be mocked or not to be noticed?

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