BILLIE POTTS
"Ain't Billie, ain't Billie," the old woman cries,
"Oh, hit ain't my Billie, fer he wuz little
d helt to my skirt while I stirred the kittle
d called me Mammy and hugged me tight
d come in the house when hit fell night."
ut the old man leans down with the flickering flame
d croaks: "But tell me his name."
"Oh, he ain't got none, fer he just come riden
From some fer place whar he'd bin biden,
d ain't got a name and never had none,
ut Billie, my Billie, he had one,
nd hit wuz Billie, hit wuz his name."
ut the old man croaked: "Tell me
his
name."
"Oh, he ain't got none and hit's all the same.
But Billie had one, and he wuz little
!And offen his chin I would wipe the spittle
nd wiped the drool and kissed him thar
nd counted his toes and kissed him whar
The little black mark wuz under
his
tit,
Shaped lak a clover under his left tit
With a shape fer luck and I'd kiss hit- "
And the old man blinks in the pine-knot flare
nd
his
mouth comes open like a fish for air,
Then he says right low, "I had nigh fergot."
"Oh, I kissed
him
on his little luck-spot
And I kissed and he'd laff as lak as not- "
The old
m!an
said: "Git his shirt open."
69
The old woman opened the shirt and there was the birthmark under
the left tit.
It was shaped for luck.
(The bee knows, and the eel's cold ganglia burn,
And the sad head lifting to the long return,
Through brumal deeps, in the great unsolsticed coil,
Carries its knowledge, navigator without star,
And under the stars, pure in its clamorous toil,
The goose hoots north where the starlit marshes are.
The salmon heaves at the fall, and wanderer, you
Heave at the great fall of Time, and gorgeous, gleam
