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

Anxiety, the unwelcome house guest (who never seems to leave).

An older painting I did of Bink stimming at the beach.

 

Agita

Sometimes I think there four of us
making a life inside this sweet gray house.
Add the felines,
we make a quirky octad.

There is the me who is I
poet, I mom, I carer for everything
and everyone who moves
within this circle––
the him and her, the furniture
which claims no gender please,
no polish, just a cleanish
dry cloth and a bit of appreciation,
the felines who purr and hiss
their love and judgement
direct and pure,
the glassware that tells me daily
how it desires to be placed
within the cabinet.

There is the he, who is he
who shoulders that which I cannot,
who is he who knocked on my heart
and wouldn’t leave
even when I didn’t open the door.
He who loves
the her and me.
He who is so funny
and tender
behind the stray F word
and under all that huff.

There is the she that needs
so much, so often, the she
that tears things apart-–
not to destroy, but rather to
discover what’s inside,
the she who cannot be left
alone, who can tell you exactly
the date in 2001
when that mean teacher dragged her
and screamed at her so loud,
so loud it burned her ears and forever
branded such a sound as red fire screaming.

The fourth is Agita, who is the shot of speed
startling her brain into flight,
who pushes my she down a spiral stair
and I can only follow.

Agita inserts herself into everything,
turns the stakes to high,
mars even a calm beach vacation
with worry, obsession, and fear.

Some say autism and Agita are married.
Perhaps so
but I’ll never stop hoping
she leaves without looking back,
leaves without scarring,
leaves and never, ever returns.

 

–Melinda Coppola

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read More Blog Posts

Rhyming to Death

I started writing poetry when I was 8 or 9. My first notebooks were full of rhyme, crude as it may have been. Over the years my writing morphed into rambling narrative free verse. From time to time I enjoy a quick dip back into the rhythmic river of rhyme.

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A 2022 Story, Part 9

Part 9 You can read part 8 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-8 The skies grew dark earlier and Moon stayed longer. Sun still warmed the skies, but the air was crisp and cool. Trees on the banks of Big River dropped bright, wide leaves or dry brown needles into the swirling waters, and

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Through Emerald Eyes

1. I saw an army of righteous green soldiers, spines erect, facing away from the wind to trick the opposition into doubting their strength. 2. Another day, a thousand brushes— great green swaths of them, moist and willing to receive dust from coats of dogs, little bunnies, the neighbor’s insolent

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A 2022 Story, Part 8

A 2022 Story You can read part 7 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-7/   Part 8 Many suns and moons came and went as Little Stream and Wee Lily Pond tumbled along in the powerful pull of Big River. They were quiet—Lily too exhausted to speak, Little just too sad. Still, both felt

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Hush

I’m pleased that my poem, ” Hush”, was published in Amethyst Review today.   Hush Is it by aging alone that I landed in this sparse, harsh forest, where most branches are sharp, all bark is sandpaper, and even the birds., diligently practicing their scales, can sometimes shake my equilibrium,

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A 2022 Story, Part 7

A 2022 Story, Part 7 You can read part 6 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-6/   Part 7 A spark of something wonderful rose inside Little Stream as she waited for Wee Lily Pond to push her towards the banks of Big River. Hope!  There would be a way out of this soon.

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It Goes Like This

You smile down on me from a slightly precarious perch on the shelf above my messy desk. It’s my favorite photo of you—young and exuberantly happy, arms flung wide, dressed in colorful layers that reflect your signature style. I’d never seen this picture until your Memorial Service, but I loved

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A 2022 Story, Part 6

And why, you might be asking, is she still working on a 2022 story? We are, after all, a few sturdy strides into 2023 spring. The answer is in the story itself. If you’ve been reading these discontinuous pieces, thank you!   A 2022 Story You can read part 5

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A 2022 Story, Part 5

A 2022 Story   You can read part four here: htts://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-4/   Part 5 Little Stream wasn’t sure Lily Pond had heard her question, so she asked again. “Wee Lily Pond, do you think there is a way out of this raging river? I really miss my quiet life.” Wee

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