Staring intently into the mirror
I can see the bones beneath my face,
a rigid armature
that would take
fierce will to break,
architecture that’s endured
decades of menacing weather.

Pressing pencil against paper,
I trace the ridge of cheekbone,
the shadow pooling at my temple,
winding up the long stretch
of my inherited grandfather’s forehead,
to that bulging vein
I blame on my father’s rage.

The graphite darkens
where I’d rather it not,
to reveal slowly deepening lines
radiating from eyes
that would seem
to have seen as much laughter
as loss,
but have not.

My hand then draws
honest shadows into
a brow too furrowed for my age,
from years of listening and
not being heard,
then more gently down the curve
of high cheekbones I’ve always liked,
and on to the nose
that once bewitched
my husband.

Next, I soften an anxiety-ridden
jaw set more tightly than I’d like,
and gently outline lips soft and full
that would seem
to have kissed more loves
than traitors,
and have.

I can’t forget
to block in my hair,
just like mom’s was,
fine and straight,
thinning a bit,
but still there.

I draw from reflection
and knowing,
each line a decision
to render the scars
earned through the years,
or smudge them away.

I show the scars,
and asymmetries,
choosing real
over polish
every time.

This face emerging on the page,
a mix of loss and determination
rendered in every shade
of grey,
neither beautiful nor broken,
persistently here.

I set down the pencil.
I lay down the eraser.

Done with this face,
for today.

– Maureen Reynosa-Braak

Author’s Note: I’ve been drawing self-portraits for decades. It’s always a challenging act of balancing radical honesty and selective mercy. Each line drawn is a decision about what truths to show and which to smudge away.