By Marcia LeBeau

Featured Art: Colorful carpets hanging on wall by Meruyert Gonullu

The Lucky store a few towns over is going out of business.
That doesn’t seem so lucky to me. Every year, my husband and I hit
their After Christmas sale. We try on jeans with zippers that tell us—
Lucky You! when the teeth unclench. I once got a sweater
with LUCKY that stretched across my breasts. We pile clothes
in dressing rooms facing each other. Yay or Nay outfits.
With conjugal knowledge, we are ruthlessly honest. Whoever finishes first
takes a seat and watches the other model consider and reconsider.
The other day, a woman I barely know told me how much she loves
my husband, the way he always refers to our life experiences with “we.”
We have decided. We went there. We bought that. She tells me how lucky I am.
When my husband and I leave the store, we clutch shopping bags,
we are satiated. Sometimes we hold hands, if we have one free.

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Marcia LeBeau’s poems have been published in Rattle, Painted Bride Quarterly, Hiram Poetry Review, SLANT, and O, The Oprah Magazine. Her chapbook, The Book of Bob, was shortlisted for the 2019 Wallace Award. LeBeau, who holds an MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts, is an artist-in-residence in the schools and plays viola in her local symphony. She is the founder of The Write Space, a collaboration space for creative writer, in Orange, New Jersey.