Imago (Poetry)

Somehow, in the interim,
between the then and now,
the switch has flicked, the hormones surged
and she’s transformed, complete.

She’s not the same and it’s far more
that what the eye can see —
something’s changed, time didn’t freeze —
her girlhood’s gone — so meet

the woman-child that has emerged,
all gawkiness shrugged off —
she’s shed old skin and swaggers in
sophisticated stuff.

Her molecules might be the same,
though madly rearranged,
on her first flight she’s bathed in light —
the grub’s become a moth.