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

A Little Bullish

I know, I know. Much is not right here in the world. We conjure and raise up hatreds and fears born of misconceptions. We bow down to profit and convention instead of the goodness in each other. We make wars, first with ourselves, and then with those we call other.

We perpetrate unspeakable violence against the creatures that also claim this land and air and water as their home.

Still, I am lifted and hopeful. It’s not all (or even most) of the time, but I can still find the little red flower growing out of the trash heap. If I get down close to the earth and press my ear to the dry ground I can still hear the stirrings of worms and scuttling bugs. I can still feel the wee, sigh-like stretch of seedlings getting close to breaking through the dirt. I can keep loving their new green hopefulness and joy. So grateful I am, for this.

My default is introversion. Truth is, I am very comfortable in here. But being out and about, not just with the grasses and trees, but also among people, can be life-giving, too.  Shopping for food becomes therapy, when I remember to put PAY ATTENTION on my list, and then take notes.

Notes:

In the subterranean levels of my being, I have a faith/in you, kindly looking woman with two kids in your grocery cart, one of whom is screaming/ in you, silver haired twosome who might be sisters, or friends, or lovers, combing through the bananas to find the perfect combination of yellow and green/in you, ever cheerful cashier who almost always speaks to my daughter as she stands, rocking and scripting, beside me in your line/and/in you, young man with the profane political bumper sticker on the truck you drove here, which may not be yours/truck or sentiment/I have faith in you.

 

—Melinda Coppola

Read More Blog Posts

Look up! The world is out there.

Reckoning Inside, just shy of sunrise, all over the land people awakened, reached for their small screens, hungry for the tiny words and pictures, memes and videos designed to amuse, entrance, distract from stress and angst of bad news streaming 24/7. The people found ways to laugh, or groan, and

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Categorically Speaking

Dubbed One name for a collection of can’ts, of never wills and less-thans, a singular bucket into which they dump the myriad ways she comes up short. Autism. The rusty scuttle whose name expands to encompass the collected others— Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Severe anxiety disorder. Chronic polyuria. Lordosis, Kyphosis. Intellectual

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For some who left

STAY I want to dematerialize and put myself back together between his reedy young body and the gun he stole from his Uncle’s desk drawer the night they invited him for dinner. I want to land hard between her hands— the same hands that had just held an acceptance letter

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Accepting Autism

Ten years ago, April was designated Autism Awareness month. April 2 is World Autism Awareness day. There has been a movement towards renaming both of these, replacing awareness with acceptance . Robert Frost wrote,” Always fall in love with what you’re asked to accept. Take what is given, and make

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Literally

I suppose all parents have those first moments of recognition; the sudden realization that the world has pushed itself inside your child’s innocence, the bittersweet rush of comprehension that s/he will never be quite the same again. Having a child with disabilities creates a different trajectory. Timelines are unpredictable. Those

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A little more “Pub Cred”.

One of my goals as a creative person is to put more of my work out into the world. If writing and art-making gets short shrift in the bigger picture of my life as Bink’s mom and chief advocate—and it does—the amount of time I spend on submissions is barely

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Little Altars Everywhere

My home is host to little altars everywhere honoring lives lived, seasons arriving and leaving, the hundred sparks of grace and wonder, sorrow and understanding that pock and foliate hours and years squeezed into the dance of this body, my particular, grand, unbearably blessed and gratefully transient human experience. On

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Notes from a Parallel Universe

I’ve written a fair amount about life with my adult child. As I plod ever so slowly towards creating a book about the journey, it occurs to me that the pace at which I’m working on that is in sync with the overall pace and rhythm of our life together.

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Me and My Shadow Go to Market

It is May 2020, still early in The Covid Times. We take ourselves to the market, by which I mean our whole selves, me in my layers of self-consciousness— the run of the mill kind that most of us don without thought— she baring all, as usual: no pretense, nothing

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