Spiralist
By Elinor Ann Walker
I find everywhere in nature a well-ordered scheme, where everything, living and dead, fits into some other thing specially prepared to receive it. — James B. Pettigrew
I’m turning into clematis—no,
I’m turning into clavicles, petaled
to sternum. I’m all mettle
in clinging to form & twining,
I stem sweetly toward light. Patterns
on repeat: here chambered
heart, ventricular fibers striated,
there, the most commonly fractured
bone. Also, whelk & ram’s horn,
murmuration of starlings. Nautilus.
Interstellar nebulae. Staircase.
My mind a look out turret.
I see so far back in time,
my hamstring’s tightly wound nerves
damaged in labor while my feet
were stirruped; sciatica
still rings as dendritic as agate,
around & down. My oldest
born with broken collarbone.
Multi-versed my cells
tendriled with Ys from bearing
boys. Double helix.
I am not singular in my over-
spinning. But what if I
listen: allow
what’s crooked
to take shape
out of
air accept
the form it takes
tiny curlicue of
question caesura
smoke ring
what-
ever hangs
or echoes
a whip-poor-will's
song at night
to un-strand
my chimera
lead her home.
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Elinor Ann Walker holds a Ph.D. from UNC-Chapel Hill and is on the poetry staff at River Heron Review. Recent poems appear in AGNI, Nimrod, Plume, Poet Lore, Quarterly West, The Southern Review, Terrain, and elsewhere. Her debut chapbook, Fugitive but Gorgeous (forthcoming), won the 2024 Sheila-Na-Gig First Chap Prize.