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. His chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017 and is still available at Finishing Line Press and Amazon. His first full-length book of poetry was published last April by Kelsay Press. He lives in Massachusetts.
Fall Is the Only Season
Fall is the only season.
Don’t let summer fool you,
hazy, lazy way-station
on the road to decay.
It’s always fall.
Skin sloughs off.
Tribes die out.
The sign on the Long Funeral Home
will always say “Long Funerals”
Winter’s rigid turn serves simply
to preserve dead autumn leaves under
hunched shrouds of snow.
And, please, don’t talk to me about spring.
We know about April.
And May is just April on mushrooms.
June has no function but to rhyme.
And July and August are spasms of hope
before fall is back to tell you it’s time.
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