Inside the chrysalis
the transforming cocoon place,
low-lying renewal space,
melting is going on.
Before muscle and wing,
Before the colour and deft flight,
poor caterpillar reduced to liquid mess.
At 49, awaiting the end of bleeding
I laid low and felt my muscles liquefy,
All my energy turned inward.
No more dizzy crawling, running and doing.
And more rest,
naps in the afternoon.
Until my beautiful wings began to grow
surround me with rainbow reflections.
Sunshine called me out.
We dried our flimsy wet things
and took off.