Pandora's Mirror

She did not release

Loathing upon the world

By opening a jeweled box.

She sat at her vanity dresser,

Gazing upon a reflection

With a frown

That twisted the hearts of humans nearby

And those across the seas.

Their vision of themselves

Became warped and all

Began to see the tiny flaws,

The bends and curves

Of their reflections and countenances, their lives.

Each distinctive bend of a nose,

Every laugh line around the eyes,

Every rounded apple cheek

Became a reason for self-hatred,

A quest to conform to some undefined

Sculpture of perfection.

Each body became too fat, too thin,

Too long, too poorly toned, too flawed.

Pandora's scowl became our own.



She glanced at her servants behind her,

Their faces reversed in her looking glass.

She saw their differences ---

From each other, from herself ---

And began to hate them all

For being uglier, prettier, more special, more ordinary;

Different

From herself.

Their flaws enhanced her beauty

Their beauty called attention

To her plainness.



She smashed the mirror,

No longer content to hate herself,

And turned to the others.



"Bring me the box," she said.

"I am ready to turn the key."

Copyright 2000 by James-Clifton Spires