poem
Volume 25, Number 2

Backhanded Apology

I am sorry I am woman / Sorry for the cicadas / that rose / from my chest. Animals /
that hibernated for thirteen years / then ruined / your summer. / Sorry for each freckle /
on my shoulder / chocolate chips dripped / into the batter. / Sorry the High School banned /
tank tops / so you could concentrate / on your math. / Sorry I grow / hair / like you /
under my arms / up my calves. / Sorry that even in television commercials /
for women’s razors / it’s always a bare, bronzed leg / being shaved. / Sorry I’m not /
already all the way removed. / Sorry for the suffragettes / my rowdy sisters. /
Sorry the dinner is delicious / but you’ll have to do the dishes. / Sorry for walking /
down the street / wearing that / skirt. / Sorry for the minutes / it took out of your workday /
to gawk like that. / To say those things. / Sorry I didn’t say thank you. /
I thought you were going to / kill me. / Sorry I keep my mail / front door / apartment key /
between each of my fingers / when I walk. / A pincushion where the sharp sides /
point out. Sorry I bled / on your couch. / Sorry I didn’t / tell you, flipped /
the cushion upside-down. / Sorry I say sorry so much. /
Sorry you got fired / for grabbing my ass / of course / it belonged to you / like the candy /
on my desk. / Sorry for all the ridiculous laws / of gravity too. / I’m sure / my breasts /
are very happy / to see you. / Sorry you liked breast milk so much. / Sorry I fed you in public /
and let everyone know / you loved a woman then. / Sorry I was your first /
home and didn’t leave / my body open / for you / to crawl / back in. /
Sorry that the egg that made me / came from inside my mother /
when she was inside her mother. / Sorry for all this forever. /
Sorry you’re on the outside / of the joke. Sorry / I bled on your couch /
and I didn’t turn over / the cushion / this time. /


—Megan Falley