What kind of name is that?
asks the clerk at the Motor Vehicle Department.
And so it begins.

I tell her it’s bastardized Lithuanian,
and originally meant “God’s gift,”
or maybe “God’s beetle.”
But it got butchered at Ellis Island,
reduced to a lower state of grace,
like Lithuania itself.
Invaded, occupied, and bullied
by one country after another,
only to be humiliated by bureaucrats
who can’t be bothered to spell
a foreign sounding name correctly.

And no one cares
that the national plant is rue,
worn by brides
as a symbol of maidenhood,
that every large hill there
is called a mountain,
or that in Vilnius you’ll find
a swing foundation
whose members install swings
throughout the city and then move them
to other locations
when no one is looking,
and that there’s also a tiny “republic”
with its own Constitution
and a line that says,
Everyone has the right to understand nothing.

First Published in Gyroscope Review Winter 2026 (see page 43)

Winter 2026 Issue Web_compDownload

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