Dragonfly

source

She was  humble, shy, eyes downcast.

In our group of mostly white people,

she deferred, listened,

as we talked, talked, talked.

We had so much to say.

She was easy to overlook.

We were so full of ourselves.

Then they called her name.

She stepped to the middle of the room,

brown dress, moccasins,

feathers in her long black hair, 

in the middle of her life

of many losses.

Suddenly, arching herself, 

one arm up, one down,

like wings,

she wailed a powerful, keening cry

that rattled the rafters,

and circled, singing.

All eyes were on her. 

We were holding our breath

in the face of such pure power,

such unmistakable grief.

I saw her, suddenly,

as a dragonfly,

symbol of metamorphosis.

She was beauty, change, light,

a shape-shifter,

who rearranged 

the cells in my body

with her cry,

leaving me

transformed.

for Susie's prompt at Real Toads: Dragonfly