At Mass, my boy’s blood ran when I held
the golden plate under Elvenoy’s double chin,
kneeling in her ruffled dress, stretching out
her thick, pink tongue, her brown eyes raised
to heaven as our Lord melted away.
“Wanna show ya somethin’” she said one day,
her shy head lowered, her dark eyes rolling
toward the dark garage, its interior ribboned in light,
where she put her tongue in my mouth and raised
her ruffled dress, revealing a new heaven
and, as she held me in her small hand, a new earth.
All of the sky is silent
Even the jet shining
like a dime way up high.
I stole that dime from you,
one of your stories, I think.
And you! You shone like
a new penny in your country cabin
at your writing desk, your red hair
and red heart on fire.
Alec Solomita has published fiction in the Southword Journal, The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, and The Adirondack Review, among other publications. He was shortlisted by the Bridport Prize and Southword Journal, and named a finalist by the Noctua Review. His poetry has appeared in Algebra of Owls, The Belfast Review, MockingHeart Review, Driftwood Press, and elsewhere. His poetry chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published by Finishing Line Press in 2017 and is currently being considered for a Massachusetts Book Award. He lives in Somerville, Mass.