The Kind Girl's Name

My mother called, a distant, gentle drone,

"She was so kind," she said, "you're like her own."

A sweet girl, always good, a quiet grace.

I filled the form, then paused, right at that place.

The middle box, for a name I rarely use,

a legacy, I guess, they chose to choose.

But kindness, soft, that wasn't what they got,

just something else, a tangle, a tight knot.

I signed my name, the letter small and stark,

a little lie, a hopeful, missing mark.

Did they see kindness then, or just a dream?

It feels so far, a distant, silent stream.