34AA

Like limes, I’ve been told. Like
teacups. Like a thirteen-year-old.
I read somewhere
that those ritzy
champagne glasses—
the stout & small ones
restaurants with ampersands
use—are designed as a relief
of Marie Antionette’s tits.
Another cup
I don’t fit in.
I’ve lost count
of the men
who have asked
if I’d considered
getting implants.
I’ve lost
count of the men I’ve slept with
after they’ve asked.
I am as sour, as
bitter, as immature
as my breasts
allow. This poem
doesn’t end with me braless
& proud, doesn’t end
with my flat chest
a horizon
I gallop toward.

Alana Folsom earned her MFA in poetry from Oregon State University, where she co-founded and was the Editor-in-Chief of its literary magazine, 45th Parallel. Her poetry has been published in The Believer, Missouri Review, The Journal, and others.