Hanging by a translucent thread,
Suspended from a shaded twig elusively secreted,
She lingered curled inside herself,
A shadowed self bound,
In glossy threads of dormancy.
Protective layers confined her in a life denied,
Robed her in a cocoon of silken solitude.
My voice called to her like lapping evening sea murmurs
Brushed by with wispy breezes,
Hardly a sound loud enough to be heard.
Except by one hungering to emerge
Into the sun and embrace herself as she was intended to be.
At last, the shelter of her dormant life unraveled,
Twisting away, dissolving, to unveil transparent wings,
Fluttering tenuously in the whispered air of my voice.
I beckoned to her,
Unfold your papery wings,
Become who you were meant to be.
Outward she stretched from her heart's isolation
On wings extended,
She had been there all the while, awaiting her transformation.
Nancy M. Hill
© 25 February 2002