by Virginia Watts

Poem published by Two Hawks Quarterly

Nominated for a Pushcart Prize 2022

When my brother phones
to tell me our father is dead
I see the tattered hole
in my brother’s
bedroom window screen.
The single shot
he misfired
that didn’t kill anything.

No small animal
lying still and crooked
in backyard grass
though we went
outside to be sure
as our father requested
from a kitchen chair
where he sat sipping
black coffee reading
The Patriot News.

No harsh words.
No punishment.
No longwinded speech
about how a BB gun
is not a toy.
Wag of his head.
Cluck of tongue.
Nothing dead then, kiddos?
No. We chimed monotone.
How about some bacon and scrambled eggs?
No thanks. We refused.
Everyone makes mistakes. Have some breakfast.
No thanks. We repeated.

When my brother phones
to tell me our father is dead
I hear wind whining
through a hole.
A sound as high pitched
as a fly stuck
between pane
and screen.
I stumble
to a nearby window
and search
for a body.

Copyright © 2022 Virginia Watts. All rights reserved.