This is a Woman

photo by Angela Roma

Lukewarm water cascades down; the cold air hits her drenched back as she steps out of the warmth of the flowing shower. She looks over toward the hazy mirror as she catches a distorted glimpse of her reflection. She takes a moment to pause and step back, gazing at herself, examining the intricacies of her body, every mole, dimple, and scar…her voice cracks as she mouths, “this is a woman.” 

She traces her fingers over the road maps of stretch marks that cover the top of her waist, pondering about how this body once had human beings that grew inside. As she begins to dry off, she stands back, examining herself from the side; she notices how her once perky breasts rest lifelessly like two deflated beach balls, recalling the sleepless nights of nursing her now-grown children. “This is a woman.” 

Positioning herself away from her reflection, she slathers shea butter all over her body as she continues musing over the silhouette of her feminine, pear-shaped frame. Reminiscing on her days as a trained dancer, she closes her eyes and imagines the rhythm of a drum as she contorts her arms and legs, leaning back and forth into every graceful position. “This is a woman.” 

Feeling her heartbeat racing as she loses all sense of reality with every move, she knocks over the jar of coconut oil on her counter. Reaching forward to place her ointments on the shelf, she locks onto the reflection of her hollow, weary eyes staring back at her. She lightly touches the dark circles under her eyes, crow’s feet full of cracks and wrinkles sprawled from one corner to the next; a slight smirk appears as she stares ahead at her physique, embracing the years of transformation. “This is a woman.”