Transfigured by G.F. Boyer

Transfigured

Up it grew inside her leg,
the bindweed:

a convolution,
a cordage, an intricate rigging,

circling bone’s blanched trellis,
the slender tibia, the condyles
and epicondyles,

the larger
and tongue-twisting fibula.

There at the knee, an errant vine
coiled behind the meniscus,

the sesame seed of patella,
continuing to rise,

knotting
and twining the framework
of pelvis, the comfortable belly.

Then, flowering in the cage
of her bosom:

lush, unfolding—
a flaming blossom.

by G.F. Boyer

Twitter: @EditingHermit

Editor’s Note: This poem’s tight imagery and thoughtful line breaks lead the reader into the inner world of the body. What one finds there is unexpected.

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One thought on “Transfigured by G.F. Boyer

  1. There’s an eerie disconnect between the music of the words and images and what is being depicted — exactly that skewing away from sense into “diviner sense” that I love in poems.

    Like

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