hendricksinstitute
In this poem, Katie Hendricks reflects on the pain of self-judgment and comparing one's body to unattainable beauty ideals. It contrasts external physical scrutiny with the enduring, radiant sense of self felt from within.
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“Which part of this describes you right now — and what will you do with it?”
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THE MIRROR RIDDLE Today In the mirror, The silver shimmer cracked, cracked up, really, and announced with some glee, you have arms like modeling clay put together by a vengeful six-year old, an hourglass at your knees rather than your waist, and ankles they could build a bridge on and run three lanes each way. Your thighs, well, your thighs. If you were not a vegetarian, ham hock would spring to mind. As it is, cauliflower blooms in abundance beneath the caboose of your bum, which both perches and clutches, trying to juggle that jutting prow over those shrunken heels. Who designed you, anyway? After huffing around the track, draped on the locker room bench like a half-finished sculpture, I’d watch stockings smoothed over the Modigliani legs of my classmates. When I was fifteen I knew the despair of the violet gazing up the curved stem of the rose. I knew I would never get even an honorable mention in the mirror riddle. I would never match the supremacy that Snow White could demurely discover by chirping through her heart-shaped face. I’ve had little interest in mirrors, store windows or photographs since. But some mornings I forget. I expect to look up into the radiance I know inside the way a child expects to fly in the night.
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