Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

About My Blog

I started this blog to quiet the voices in my head and heart that have been whispering and cajoling and sometimes yelling at me to write more.

This is a space where all the parts of me—mother, poet, wife, lover of beach stones and furry creatures and frequent toe-dipper in the river of song, Yoga practitioner, and teacher and she-who-cooks and she-who-makes-art and she-who-loves-silence, where all the parts of me can come out to play.

I started this blog to keep myself engaged in dialogue with my soul. If what I write interests you, educates you, moves you, …well, that’s a beautiful bonus.

Most Recent Blog Post

Sixty Unplugged Minutes with my Love

I used a text to carve an island
from a Thursday
in two overloaded lives.

I typed
10 to 11
Walk with me. Moose Hill.

I meant
Come. To the refuge down the road,
the one where boardwalks hover
over murky waters
in which juicy clusters
of grape-like frog eggs
expand in the quiescent womb
of the red oak swamp.

Walk with me.
Ditch the phone,
all ordinary buzz—

where our money is going
how to hedge against
the tidal wave of inflation
recession
what to make for dinner
who will call about the plumbing
pick up the sympathy card
wait with the car
as it’s serviced
we need eggs
and
did you list that table yet?

Used a text to defy technology,
used a car to walk
we
carved an island
trod the boardwalk
checked in on
the progress of a miracle—
eggs to tadpoles—

felt the forest floor
soft under sneakers
stroked George and Martha,
the pair of sugar maples
old as the Declaration

rounded the bend towards the bat refuge

Stop
I said
Close your eyes. Listen, listen.

Soft breeze.
Birdsong,
an auditory cornucopia

warm sun on our upturned faces.

Do you notice?
I finally said,

Everything almost feels
like it’s all right.

 

Melinda Coppola

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read More Blog Posts

Sixty Unplugged Minutes with my Love

I used a text to carve an island from a Thursday in two overloaded lives. I typed 10 to 11 Walk with me. Moose Hill. I meant Come. To the refuge down the road, the one where boardwalks hover over murky waters in which juicy clusters of grape-like frog eggs

Read More »

What’s in a name? More pub cred, musings

Mid-April already?  Time is such a liquid concept. Today, my  already may be your finally. It is already April?  Finally, it is spring.  In February, my finally was louder than my already. Finally, Winter has lifted the frayed ends of her long gray coat and begun her drawn-out egress. I’ve

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AUTISM AWARENESS DAY Redux

I’m re-posting this poem in recognition of “World Autism Awareness Day.”   As D, a sister mom from my autism tribe, has said, ” We are aware. We are very aware.”   Autism Awareness month is April, World Autism Awareness Day, April 2 and, in case the day lacks color, (as

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All This Joy, All This Sorrow

Monday, March 28, morning. It’s snowing as I write this.  Big, fluffy flakes that arrive past the date of our northern hemisphere Spring equinox.  I wonder if they know they won’t accumulate. If they did know, would their especially short lifespan would matter to them?  I suspect not.  Nature cycles

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A Little Flower

“I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn’t much improved my opinion of them.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince Hello, First, here’s a sweet daffodil that blossomed outside my door yesterday. A little yellow beacon of hope.

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I Wish You Knew

In the Garden   Imagine if you will, dear one, dear one and all, that you are sent to manifest something unique and quite vital to the world.  You arrive as rich seeded earth, landing in just the right geographic location to support your eventual yield. The trees and the

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Folliculi, Follicula

TEND and SAVOR “Why the hair is attached to the head it will not come out please respond to me in a video.” These were the first words Bink communicated to me today, shortly after she got up.  I’ve answered this question—one of about six in the current sequence that

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Saved

  It is a blessing to find those things that save us in small ways. At the checkout counter a teenaged boy offered to carry groceries for an old couple. They said yes, and I was quietly saved. Last Tuesday, late morning, a brief shaft of early winter sun reached

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