We were sitting by the river on a green wooden bench
as the light subsided slowly and the coxswains’
urgent voices faded underneath the footbridge where
I grew up. I’d caught a fish nearby with my bare hands
when I was eight and carried it flipping across the highway,
placing it carefully in one of our garbage cans that I filled
with a few feet of water. Mom lost her temper when
she nosed the fish a few days later. I laughed at the look
on her wide floury face and a moment later she laughed too.

We were sitting by the river on a green wooden bench
as the light subsided slowly and the coxswains’
urgent calls faded around a bend in the swift flow.
I turned to say something to you and you were gone.

Alec Solomita has published fiction in The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, and The Adirondack Review, among other publications. He was shortlisted by the Southword Journal. His poetry has appeared in Algebra of Owls, The Galway Review, Driftwood Press, Poetica, and elsewhere. His poetry chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published by Finishing Line Press, 2017. He lives in Massachusetts.