Alec Solomita’s fiction has appeared in the Southwest Review, The Mississippi Review, Southword Journal, and The Drum (audio), among other publications. He was shortlisted by the Bridport Prize and Southword Journal. His poetry has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, The Galway Review, Bold + Italic, Litbreak, Subterranean Blue Poetry, The Blue Nib, Red Dirt Forum, and elsewhere. He was longlisted for the erbacce-prize 2020. His chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017 and is still available at Finishing Line Press and Amazon. He lives in Massachusetts, USA.

Nunc est tempus moriendi

Now is the time for dying
or thinking about it anyway.
At my young old age, I must
suffer the loss of loved old friends.
Daniel with Hodgkins, Angela
with a more evil encroachment.
And for Alan, brain cancer.
It’s not easy to approach others
with my sorrows. Somehow
the virus has turned everyone
into a philosopher. That used
to be my job! Now, death is “a natural
part of life.” Thanks I didn’t know.
I need to mourn. That’s a natural
part of death. It’s good for you
and beats leaking platitudes like gas.

Because I’m Alone

Because I’m alone, I watch Vera,
sipping on whiskey (both of us)
and when I’m done, I go back
to the first episode.
A couple of weeks of that, sated,
I turn to beauty and the beast
Dalziel and Pascoe, sipping whiskey
(Dalziel and me) and watch the
whole series over the next
few weeks until I’ve forgotten all
the Veras and I can relive
the seaside and wetlands
and that kind woman
sipping whiskey.