If I could have something named after me, it would be all the things that we do not have names for, the things we cannot name.
When your friend asks, “How are you?” and you feel a mixture of contentment lined with a soupçon of ennui and something else which you eludes you, you will say, “Rhena” and your friend will know.
And when your friend is at a loss for how to console you, comfort you, and give you space, she will say, “Rhena” and you will know.
When put your earbuds in, you will say, “Hey Siri, play Rhena,” she will play the music you need to hear and it will always be Nina Simone or Lauryn Hill or Salt-n-Pepa or Tracy Chapman or Aretha Franklin or or or or…
When you see a man pushing his baby in a stroller at a great distance and want to shout “Thank you for bringing your baby out on this beautiful day. I was feeling a little down and then I saw her beautiful black hair, like ravens feathers on that sweet head bobbling on top of her neck while she peered around, trying to take in all the world with her new eyes and isn’t God good?” but he is too far and there isn’t enough time you will whisper “Rhena” and he will know. And he will whisper “Rhena” and you will know that yes, God is good.
And when you cannot choose what to eat for dinner, you will say, “Rhena” and the server will nod, knowingly.
And when you want someone to see you but you are so, so tired of speaking and explaining and justifying, you will say, “Rhena” and they will know.
Until all the people say,
Rhena!
Rhena?
Rhena. Rhena. Rhena.
rhenarhenarhenarhenarhena.
Until there comes a day when there is no longer need
to speak my name.
Rhena Writes 