My mother, Brenda, is never Brenda
but Debbie-Bren, or Debbrenda.
Her younger sister is rarely Deborah;
she answers to Ellie-Debs and Edna.
My mother knows my aunt works harder,
but hates being mistaken by her father.
My cousin is hardly ever Eleanor:
Debbren-Ellie or Ed-Eleanor;
and, though I’m christened Alexandra,
I’m El-Alex and Brendebsedna.
My cousin says that I’m still the golden child
as we drink prosecco together.
We laugh, knowing too, that the golden ghost
in our grandad’s mind is Edna –
his wife, their mother, and our grandma.
None of us minds being Edna.
from #NaPoWriMo @poetryschool Prompt 3