Jessica, my postal worker,
it is a snowy night in December and you
are knocking on my front door with a package
asking if I am me. I am, yes. Yes, I remember you.
In the background, behind the barely cracked door,
my husband and I are nude, drunk
in front of the fire, in our own home.
Do I remember stealing a beer with you
in Chinatown, New York City?
On an art club field trip for cultural
and self-enrichment, we stole
the sights and some Budweiser
from the first bodega we had ever seen.
You told my mother, our chaperone,
that I was wild in bed. She said ha, she kicks!
and patted your head. Peeking around
the door, shewing a cat, I say come back
some time when you are not working;
I mean, when I am not naked, I mean not married,
when I am not.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 5.
Anne Lucas’s poetry has appeared in The Avalon Literary Review, Abstract Magazine, Cleaver, Timber, The Mojave River Review, The Ekphrastic Review, and Jenny, among other journals and anthologies. Anne’s peer-reviewed scholarship on early twentieth-century graphic memoir appeared recently in Assay: a Journal of Nonfiction Studies. They have been a recipient of residencies and scholarships from Sundress Academy for the Arts, MMLA, and the Atlantic Center for the Arts. Lucas is a doctoral teaching fellow in literature at Kent State University and is a co-founding editor of Kent State’s Haymaker Literary Journal.
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