Literary Orphans

Pulpy the Wit by Alec Solomita

I

Pulpy the wit that

once was needle sharp,

like when you said,

“Better great than never”

to make mother laugh.

You were seven then,

funny boy, little man.

You could lick anyone in

the whole goddam family.

The whole goddam block.

 

II

You once were lost but now

are ground into powder,

the winter bleak, the sky lucid.

Mother’s not here but her heart

floats on yours like a reed.

 

III

You’re ready to fly,

the lick of wind on

the cliff, your own

precipice, the wind’s voice

in this high place,

the nearness of clouds.

O Typekey Divider

Alec Solomita has published fiction and poetry in Eclectica, The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, and elsewhere. Most recently, his work has appeared in theEEEL, Turk’s Head Review, MadHatLit, 3 Elements, and Truck. Several of his poems are forthcoming in Fulcrum: an anthology of poetry and aesthetics. He lives in the city of Somerville in the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

solomita photo

O Typekey Divider

–Art by Mustafa Dedeoğlu