Sunday, May 19, 2024

For The Mourner By Alec Solomita


For the mourner

only one thing is:

things like business,

cooking, seeing

birds stir the spring air,

falling snow, even

watching the home team

as it falters once again,

all vanished.


For the mourner 

only two things help: 

a martini’s olives at the

bottom of the blue-hued

glass, and sleep. Deep

sleep and streaming dreams

that terrify enough to wake

you to another Klonopin, ushering

you back into a wild, uncertain dark:

anywhere to douse the dying spark.







Alec Solomita is a writer working in Massachusetts. His poetry has appeared in many journals, including Poetica, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Galway Review, The Lake, The Rye Whiskey Review, and several anthologies. His chapbook “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017 by Finishing Line Press. His full-length poetry book, “Hard To Be a Hero,” was released by Kelsay Books in the spring of 2021. He’s just finished another, “Small Change.”



No comments:

Post a Comment

FAIRBANKS By Kent Fielding

  with a line after Bukowski The swallows are rough today like ingrown toenails As I wake hung-over again, again in a room I do not recogniz...