Still a Girl

by Lacie Semenovich


Serendipity of a sober night.
Serendipity of a glance across

a crowded dance floor, cliché,
I know, but true. I never believed

in love at first sight, but I still
remember your face, your

radiance, your smile as everyone
else melted into watercolors

around us, as we melted into
one another and I gave you

my real phone number.
Serendipity that you

remembered it. Serendipity of youth
that an hour is not too far to drive

each night for love.

Each day is a falling in love
when you sweat over dinner,

half-naked and red in a small
kitchen. Each day is falling

when you graze the inside
of my arm with your fingertips,

when you miss my cheek and kiss
my neck. Each day I fall

when you accept my dirty dishes
in the sink, my papers and books

stacked in corners and on tables,
my half-finished scarves, necklaces,

and paintings throughout the house.
Each day I fall into your eyes

to see the boy still there looking
back across a crowded life

looking only at me like I am
still a girl, the only one in the world.


* * * * *

Lacie Semenovich is a poet and fiction writer living in Cleveland, Ohio. Her work has appeared in B O D Y, Sheila-Na-Gig online, Qwerty, Chiron Review, and The Best Small Fictions 2020. She is the author of a chapbook, Legacies (Finishing Line Press).