Albany rainy days
open the doors and greet me
with a smile.
Tea with the Deep South,
my grandmother,
on the back porch,
listening to Conway Twitty,
smoking Carolina leaves,
filling my lungs with love.

She’s got problems, man.
She cries on my shoulder,
for years, generations, with
regret and sadness.
There is no coming back
from what she’s done.
I say to only love now,
though she won’t listen.

It’s a shame,
my friend America,
you’re beautiful,
and you know it.
The world is dying
to see you come
alive again.

 

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Nicholas Soluri is a sophomore at Union College in New York, studying English. He has been previously published in The Slag Review, and The Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine. He currently lives in North Carolina.

Twitter: @nerkcelery