Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Nameless in Nashville

He is asleep.
Curled up in a ball,
nose pressed against the metal gate.
He is content to sleep
and play and eat and poop.
I am sleepy just looking at him.
Last night he kept us up all night,
crying
and peeing and needing us with him,
acting like he would die
without constant touching.
Now, when it is too late for us to go back to sleep,
he is content to rest by himself.
The baby fat folds of skin he has yet to grow into
hang over his crate.
Every so often he yawns and reaches his head toward the sky.
Then, exhausted by the effort that small movement took,
he returns to slumber.
He is adorable.
We have yet to name him.
Oscar,
Oliver,
Archie,
Charlie,
Bentley,
and Yudel,
are just a few of the names we have been batting around,
but none of them seem quite right.
My father wants us to name him Max,
after him,
but I’m not sure how I’d feel about having my father with us
twenty-four hours a day.
I know the name will come to me eventually,
just like potty training.
Hopefully, the sooner
the better.