Coda by Alec Solomita

Coda

I never liked musical chairs.
It always seemed so random
and, in a way, unkind,
leaving the unlucky one behind.
My niece, a nurse,
was gone in April.
My friend John Simone
who played lead in our
junior high band
and leapt off garage roofs,
died last month.
And that seraph Nicky,
who saved my life once
lies alone and breathless.
I pray for where he’ll be
when the music stops.

*

Alec Solomita is a writer, editor, and artist working in the Boston area. His fiction has appeared in The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, Peacock, and elsewhere. He’s published poetry in Eclectica, Literary Orphans, 3 Elements Review, Silver Birch Press, The Galway Review, Poetica Review, and many other venues. His poetry chapbook, Do Not Forsake Me (Finishing Line Press), came out in 2017. His photographs and drawings have appeared in The Adirondack Review, The Young Ravens Literary Review, Anti-heroin Chic, Fumble, Fatal Flaw Literary Review, and elsewhere.

Coda by Mac Campbell

Coda

In the morning the woman folds down
the man’s collar and watches him
walk out the door. The door clicks
shut. The body gets locked into the bed.
The bed is the key. The bed smells like the man
but the man is gone. The upstairs neighbor
takes a shower. Dirty water follows
the line in the wall. The mirror follows
the line of the body. The mirror hangs
next to the bed. The woman hangs
a sheet over the mirror. She wants out
of this body, the body the man touched,
the body the man no longer wants to touch.

*

Mac Campbell received her MFA from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, where she was Poetry Editor for The Greensboro Review. Her recent work appears in Cimarron Review and Red Rock Review. She lives in Richmond, Virginia.