Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

My poem, Night Upon the Prairie, was published in Writing in a Woman’s Voice poetry journal yesterday. While writing this I channeled singer/songwriter energies. If I had learned to play guitar, I think this one would have morphed into a folk or country song.

 

It was night upon the prairie,
new moon sliver in the sky
cold wind pushing through,
heading East.

In the old brown house
through the night upon the prairie
leaky windows rattled
a rhythm to match my shiver.

I cocooned in scratchy blankets
next to the hollow you left
the whole night upon the prairie
in the bed we once called ours.

My only company were the mice
scrambling, nesting in the walls
behind the dirty woodstove
every night upon the prairie.

It was night upon the prairie
when I shredded my rough blankets
punched a hole into the wall
behind the stove,

Gathered armfuls of the rags,
that last night upon the prairie,
fed them to the wounded wall
those mice called home.

It was morning on the prairie
when I grabbed my half packed bag,
closed the creaky door behind me,
bade farewell to the brown house.

I left a trail of dust
that clean morning on the prairie
when my foot pressed on the gas
and I drove East into the wind.

Published in Writing in a Woman’s Voice November 2022

 

 

 

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