In a Locker Room

In a locker room I learned how one should always wear a towel:

undress under a towel, shower with a towel nearby so as to snatch it up

and cover one’s skin as soon as the water is turned off.

In a locker room the nude are vulnerable. 

In a locker room never show one’s body to others, even of the same gender

-- especially of the same gender – as this will only cause

comparison, jealousy, derision, teasing, gawking, laughter and distress.

In a locker room there is rarely supervision.

In a locker room it is sometimes hard to tell the sweat of play

from the sweat of fear, especially after dodge ball.

In a locker room there is mute posturing, sidelong glances in the mirror.

In a locker room all was once soft

puffy pre-pubescent flesh, breast buds and unmarred skin. 

In a locker room there are no fashion trappings.

In a locker room one is returned to that first fearful moment,

undressing without mom or dad to protect and assist.

In a locker room we are all equal and all equally bare. 

In a locker room one sees for the first time how

the color of one’s skin, the shape of one’s belly and behind and breast are different.

In a locker room I learned how to feel powerful and beautiful in my own skin.

In a locker room there are now tattoos and surgical scars,

stretch marks and mottled skin.

In a locker room one sees for the first time how

varied we all are and, ultimately, in our skins, how fragile, alike and perfect.

~Andrine de la Rocha

posted 5/27/2011