caroline ridgway

What small percentage

of my life have I devoted

to the examination in the mirror

of my jawline

assessing its relative definition

in reflection of the definition of me.

What thoughts do I entertain

at the arc of my back, at shadow, at curve.

I am so exquisitely aware

of the negative space adjacent,

of my unpairedness.

While we whittle away at our truer selves

carving angles out of authenticity,

there is undoubtedly a time when jutting hip bones

are more about need than want

but truthfully – can we be true, for a moment? –

and bluntly, only about want, never need.

We dissolve in cellular fragment, with each exhalation,

the literal sense of into thin air.

Passing judgment / muster / interest / out,

it’s only occasionally

too much.