Lew Watts

Nictinasty

My brother lives on the north side. His house is close to the freeway, but if I have time I exit earlier. There’s something bittersweet about driving through our old neighborhood, the memories flooding back. My first kiss. The first punch. Mrs Murphy’s smile. Today, as I meandered across the city, I stopped by the lake where I used to fish . . . for tench, and roach, and occasionally for carp.

“So there I was, sitting on that bench where Dad would sit, and I swear I could smell him,” I tell my brother. “‘Course, it could have been the pond weed. Anyways, it got me thinking, so I did a little detour, didn’t I? Drove past the cemetery, almost stopped.”

breaking through
this heavy loam. . .
a pale plumule

My brother sinks his pint and looks away.

“What d’you think? Shouldn’t be hard, lying next to her mother and all—family had a big stone, I think.”

My brother turns and looks me in the eye.

“That’s not where she’s buried,” he says. “Drink up.”

at the merest hint
of her name—
closing time

---

About the Author

Lew Watts is the haibun co-editor of Frogpond and the author of Tick-Tock (Snapshot Press, 2019), a haibun collection that received an Honorable Mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards. His publications include the novel Marcel Malone and the poetry collection Lessons for Tangueros. He lives in Chicago.