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.

Paris

New York, Chicago, New Hampshire, D.C.
But I did love Paris, I’m not afraid to say,
despite the risk of appearing passé.

I rented a room on Rue Montparnasse,
le deuxieme étage. Mornings, I’d practice
phrases before venturing out,
“Il est temps d’aller en France!”

Like everyone I walked the pale city
until my shoes hurt. The natives enjoyed
my French. The bartender at “Smoke”
never smiled as he poured my Cutty.

Alone in my room, I was charmed
by the small family across the courtyard.
The little boy played scales and simple songs
on a French piano. Their walleyed girl

skipped rope on the green cobbles, and
every evening as I was getting ready to go
out and be lonely, the mother of the family
would sing, “À table!” I loved Paris.