He had-- his name was-- his given name was Freddie.
It was Freddie, because he was born
in the hills of West Virginia.
And when his mother-- when the doctor from the big city
finally came, and said, what's the name of the baby?
She said, Fred, and the doctor wrote, Freddie.
A little black baby couldn't be Frederick, you know.
And this is a long time ago, right?
So, he had, at one point, decided
he was going to change his name to Frederick.
So, we did all the necessary stuff.
The man was Frederick.
And then, after he was ill--
and he was ill at home for nine months.
We nursed him at home.
He one day said to me, I think I want
to return to my rightful name.
So, anyway, this is a poem about that.
It's called "i'm going back to my true identity."
I was ready to return to my rightful name.
I saw it hovering near in blazoned script.
And passing through fire, I claimed it.
Here is a box of stars for my living wife.
Tell her to scatter them, pronouncing no name.
Tell her there is no deathless name a body can pronounce.