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, Amethyst, and elsewhere as well as in several anthologies. 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.
One of those New England flash storms
came rolling in so fast this early spring afternoon
that the modest clouds bloomed big and black,
darkening the day quick as a theater before the film.
Huge intermittent drops splashed on my naked head
and I picked up my pace, though I knew I was in for a soaking.
Even so, the sound and blinding sight of the first
crash of thunder startled me. I love thunderstorms,
I thought, as the farther branches of the street’s trees
began to tremble like old men’s fingers
and some parked cars, like me startled by the blast,
sent out a range of emergency sounds.
Old quaranteeners crept onto their porches
to quiet the cars, looking around as if they were
back in Kansas at the birth of another twister,
their fingers trembling like the trees’ small branches.
As the air became water and the thunder creaked
like an ancient tree slowly toppling, I gave myself up
to spring’s first fever and raised my head, if only for the moment.
“Deadheading sweet alyssum will keep the plants flowering.”
And that’s where we differ from sweet alyssum.
I can’t help but think of your expression
just before you met the pick-up head-on.