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

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Pentimento

pentimento noun pen·ti·men·to | \ ˌpen-tə-ˈmen-(ˌ)tō Definition of pentimento A reappearance in a painting of an original drawn or painted element which was eventually painted over by the artist The canvas: my face in the mirror, fifty eight years familiar with this world. Five or six, roaming like the free-range

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Tender

Tender. Unless I am speaking of meat, which I mostly don’t, the very word owns its ness, as in, what is tender evokes tenderness, and what calls that forth in me is that which I am drawn towards, or s/he whom I draw close, or want to. Draw close,touch, be

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Dear Future Roadmaker

It’s still April, still Autism Awareness month. I’m thinking, as I so often do, of all the people I have met on my journey of raising a daughter with special needs. There have been some wonderful teachers and some exceptional therapists (physical, occupational, speech and language, to name a few).

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Inch by Inch

Dear small band of loyal readers, I’m pleased to share that my poem, Reset, has placed second in the Light of the Stars poetry contest sponsored by Lone Stars magazine, and appears in the Spring 2019 issue. Printed literary journals are becoming less common. More and more of them publish exclusively

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April is…

I’m truly grateful to be here to greet another April. It’s such a hopeful month, with spring springing up everywhere. This month is also known as Autism Awareness Month. To those who love someone who lives with autism, every month, week, and day is a new chance to be aware.

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Our small eyes

Perchance Perhaps nothing begins or ends, not exactly. The field mouse knows the tall grass to be her world. We say morning comes, and yet it is always somewhere, just not in the very front of our small eyes. The trees are wise. They know everything cycles, seed to sapling,

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Love is a Rendering

Love is a Rendering   Telling you how I love you is like trying to find things that haven’t been said about the ocean. My hands prefer to paint it— affection, water— sweeping, striped backgrounds, turquoise and deep salient greens, silvery whites frosting every liquid peak, and there’s the sky

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