Rekindling a decade
old high school flame
hadn’t burned with a whisper
of my lips lighting letters
that I’d never send her,
But I tested what I tasted
one July evening.
A dating site matched us.
We made a date,
and she arrived hours later.
Lucy hit the doorbell.
I fixed my beard and collar
in the hall mirror.
I opened the door,
greeted her,
and motioned her inside.
Lucy’s Polo perfume
reminded me of the girl
back in high school.
I served Lucy Chardonnay.
She thanked me and took
a long sip to take the edge
and toss it into a river
of missed opportunities.
But I was here to save her
from drowning in regret.
I dialed the lights dim.
The fireworks went off.
The TV played,
but I muted the sound.
The radio played a mix
of soft pop and R&B.
I’d never had Lucy
in this living room alone.
She sat on the edge of the sofa,
her long, blond hair wrapped
around her neck,
wearing a tan skirt that showed
her silky knees that glistened
to her red heels.
Lucy sipped from a wineglass
and eyed me for some time.
I was sure I had nothing
of substance to say,
but her wanting expression
said everything and then some.
Something worked overtime within me,
reminding me that chances fade before
I knew what was authentic.
Women spliced my pride,
and splayed my heart
but Lucy slayed the walls
that I’d trapped myself in to hold
taking chances for granted,
giving myself no easy way out.
The picture other women painted
of me sealed my lips
to an awkward silence,
giving an aura of shyness.
But that picture, Lucy didn’t see.
Lucy saw me
for my remodeled self-esteem,
which the world ached to observe.
We saw each other the way we used to.
And to that, we’ll drink.