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’s working on another. He lives in Massachusetts.

Honeymoon

My mother winks at me over her glass of wine.
“Your father was so handsome in his uniform.
He had a toothache on our honeymoon.
Do you remember, darling?
Do you remember the wasp?
We were in Montparnasse.”

“La Rive Gauche,” Daddy interrupts
dramatically, The heel of his hand
coming down on the table,
rattling the plates. Nobody jumps.
“He was chasing the wasp
Without any clothes on.”

My mother laughs at the memory
of my naked father and his toothache.
Her laugh is rare and exciting,
shallow, high, and brief.

Early morning sunlight sweeps through the large, open casement windows.
My mother, slender then, sits in the bed, her dark hair setting off the white
of the sheet she holds at her neck, laughing hard at Sal, then ducking the wasp.
And Sal. Slender, too, his high, rolling black hair sleep-skewed,
as he stalks the wasp with a rolled-up newspaper.
The street outside is Utrillo’s. Their faces glow like a Renoir.
My father’s genitals sway from thigh to thigh like a boat in its slip
as he climbs onto a wooden chair after his prey.