Alec Solomita - September 14, 2020


He’s gone, and all our plans

Are useless indeed.

                                    Ivor Gurney

Long sprawling days

skimming literary journals

not literature. Weak tea,

a scintilla of alcohol

poisoning, short

naps roused by my

own snores. No checks

of my immobile. It’s

a kind of wisdom taking

over, somehow. No more

clinicians, no more groups,

no workshops, no walks,

just a sort of murmur;

there’s always something

going on in the background,

the heater, the refrigerator.

There’s no tenor

in this newborn wisdom,

only the humming vehicle.

The gestalt has become

all ground. Figure has

slipped under the porch door

like a cartoon mouse

without so much as a sigh.

Alec Solomita’s stories and poems have appeared in numerous publications, including The Adirondack Review, The Southwest Review, The Galway Review, Algebra of Owls, The Blue Nib, Bold+Italic, and The Lake. He was shortlisted by the Bridport Prize and Southword Journal and longlisted by the Over The Edge New Writer Contest 2019. He was named a finalist by the Noctua Review. His poetry chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017. He lives in Massachusetts, USA.