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.

Cold

Cold, New England cold, enfolds
the house as if it were warmth
and if I turn up the thermostat
I can feel the change drain
from my pockets. Something
cleansing, though, about the cold,
or so it seems. Something else
to think about besides busted
budgets, blasted rubble, evil parties,
salt water from the tap.

Lying cold in the earth
is what we all fear now.
It seems well on its way,
this new phase, on time or early.
Not hell, just not-ness. Or those
who still believe think of
meeting their mother and dad,
the infant who died in an incubator,
conveniently forgetting the nasty aunt
and officious neighbors, the dog
who leaps at your throat.