poetry by McCaela Prentice
I still wear that silver necklace
With the clover pressed into the pendant;
You only half believed me when I said it.
Not much has changed, I still need
All the luck that I can get; get too drunk
At dinner, still apply my lipstick
Three drinks in. You would say
That I’m still fun, I think.
But not like Greenwich Village.
There are no lilacs yet, or those flowers
That looked like cupped hands.
I’m still too young
To hold things tightly.
You were always good with watercolor;
You must be glad it has rained all week.
You painted a betta fish blooming
Into a Calla Lily.
I’ve been told those are for mourning
But I’ve never been to a funeral;
I had a nightmare you were my first.
McCaela Prentice is a Maine writer that recently graduated from St. Lawrence University. Her poetry has previously been featured in St. Lawrence University's Laurentian Magazin and The Poets of New England courtesy of the Underground Writer's Association. She was also an honorable mention in the 2019 Small Orange Emerging Woman Poet Honor.