Old man Terlik in Nesconset had a workshop wherein he made buttons, had various machines to cut & polish. Sacks of oyster shells from the Sound were delivered to him, & these became beautiful buttons of all sizes. I don’t know where he learned this skill, maybe in New York City before he retired to the country where he had a cow & several acres & a diminutive energetic babushka wife & relatives who’d visit from Jackson Heights on weekends in the summer where they’d play pinochle outside under a grape arbor. The Terliks had a driveway that half-circled from Gibbs Pond Road to behind their home, & this driveway received broken bits of nacre—I didn’t know that word at the time, of course—from his button-punching. I doubt any other driveway on Long Island caught the light the way that driveway did. I remember those glistenings as I walked or rode my bike over them, baseball cards in my pockets or clothespinned to my spokes, maybe even a Mickey Mantle rookie card or two. The Mick probably wondered why he was getting dizzy. He & Billy & Whitey had a few fights at the Stork Club that I read about in the Daily News. Maybe some shirts got ripped, collars & cuffs, & some buttons hit the dance floor, maybe some of them had been polished in old Joe Terlik’s workshop. Maybe some of those buttons from Nesconset are still collaring or sleeving or skirting or iridizing around the country like haiku or koans. If you come upon one, please let me know..

These past several years, William Heyen has published several volumes of his diary/journal, and the very big collections Nature: Selected & New Poems 1970-2020 and Diaspora: 15 Collections. He lives in Brockport, NY. [email protected].