the world is always more full of women

than full of men, I know 

the idea of more women always sounds more exciting than 

the idea of more men, I don’t know 

how it happened, that the unbearable lightness of being

is really the unbearable weight of feeling, we say

not ready, as though readiness existed 

as though I were prepared to meet my future 

as my maker? unlikely, I’ve preached

reality to the backs of my lovers till my lips chapped 

and my spa-free skin paled 

in endless comparison to simpler, smoother 

versions of the body sublime, the one 

we adore in bloodless beauty, pain subtracted, 

I see how you could see the body as buffet

I see why it looks delightful to turn us over

like half-eaten pancakes, 

an instagrammed Belgian waffle liked, passed over

until Easter makes its mark as permanent, a gift given up,

and you realize with repetition 

that what has been sacrificed god doesn’t return.

 

 

Alessandra Davy-Falconi is a phoenix who recently completed an undergraduate degree in history while working full-time in corporate America. When she’s not working, she makes and seeks out art, explores the infinite outdoors, and reads as much as possible. Her work has previously appeared in Litbreak, Flash Fiction Magazine, Philadelphia Stories, and Strong Verse, among others. Look her up if you’re curious.