Skip to main content

Alana Solin

By August 2nd, 2022No Comments


Some whales, and my house,
xxxxxxxoutlive kerosene.
Marked by gold grates, longest
xxxxxxxmouth, coldest water.
Your stitch follows my stitch,
xxxxxxxyour shingle my shingle,
column eating many rows.
xxxxxxxYou have to outlive me,
light stooping so shadow
xxxxxxxcan outgrow its solid half,
light outgrowing its source
xxxxxxxand the speed of its source.



Only the dog in the mobile version has free will. It lopes through the yard—the door blowing open—and sleeps on the kitchen floor. I love you plastic greyhound, unisex name I scramble. I love you locking pixel to pixel, your legs into running. I love you your three pairs of eyes. I love you fat birds glowing from the heat. I wish I could kiss my body on the hand but I remember everything that matters.



and one of my five molts
ends the scene    Can the cerci
fall a rip in the bottom sky
Praying over the sac    she rubs clean
she assembles    This site flaps
in strain’s middle ear
and I’m fine with everything

My first rainbow





Alana Solin is a writer from New Jersey. Her poems have appeared in jubilat and Lammergeier Magazine. You can find more of her work at