More Prominent

A coworker said it this week—

just mentioned it like a fact,

"Your collarbone is more prominent this year."

I wasn't fishing for a compliment.

I was just standing there

in the office kitchen getting coffee.

But now I can't stop noticing it.

I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror

Friday afternoon, wearing a shirt

with a lower neckline than I usually wear.

Nothing extreme. Just. There.

Sharper than I remember.

A thin line of shadow where it juts out,

my skin pale and marked with the indent,

the edge of my shirt sitting right on top of it

like it's announcing something.

Winter does this—

strips you down, makes you visible,

turns the body into something

you have to look at.

I've been watching myself

in reflections all week,

this collarbone that's apparently changed,

this thing I didn't know I should be seeing,

this marker of time passing,

of something shifting

that I can't quite name.

It's just bone. It's just skin.

But now it's a proof of something—

that I'm older, or thinner, or different,

or all of the above,

and a stranger noticed it,

said it out loud,

made it real.