My name’s NOT Connie Marie!
I would stamp my foot and holler
when my Great Uncle Bob called me that
when I was four and of course
I heard that name for a long time after,
because people liked to see me have a fit.
Great Uncle Bob bought me a stuffed hippo
which wore a red and white striped apron,
and I liked it better than I did him.
Mom called me Connie Lee,
in such a way that it made me glad
Connie Lee was my real name.
She’d also call me Brown Eyes
since she delighted in the fact
that at least one of her five girls
had brown eyes like her.
Dad called us all KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren
since he could never get it right on the first try
or Sam, Smokey or Sassafras
since they were easier than KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren.
My second-oldest sister called me Connie Louise
when I spent the summer with her,
(not sure why, but I didn’t throw a tantrum).
And I’ll always love all my sisters more
than what they can give me.
My sisters now call me Con. We all
have shortened names for each other
since we regard each other as friends. 
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