– Alec Solomita

Say you’re approaching 64 and say you want to
write a lyrical poem about your first love. Then
say her name was Hazel Keister. Where does
your loyalty lie, with authenticity or music? Or
can you achieve both with the word dazy, the word
Easter, the first gin and tonic you ever had and
your first kiss on a warm, close, dewy night?
(Note to self: change her street name from Hurlbutt
to Chauncy or, better, Chelmsford Green.) Let’s say
her dad was Warren Keister and he was the editor
of the long-running Equality, a Marxist
publication that changed nothing but Warren’s
status. And say, or does it go without saying, that
Hazel was sharp and lovely and laughed at your jokes.
That her father had the bluest eyes and that hers
changed color like a mood ring. Say that she lived
in the enclave of Cambridge, Mass., where wealthy
Communists enjoy their love of humanity.
Imagine they had two summer homes,
one on the Vineyard, one in Ogunquit. Picture her
marrying wealthy, living wealthy, and continuing
to preach proletarian. Say you’re approaching
64 and your next love was named Peggy Hershtik.

Alec Solomita is an editor and writer living in Somerville, Mass. He’s published fiction in The Adirondack Review, The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, and elsewhere. Recently, his poetry has appeared in 3Elements Literary Review, Literary Orphans, Silver Birch Press, Turk’s Head Review, and, forthcoming, Fulcrum: An International Anthology of Poetry and Aesthetics.

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