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

New Poem Published

I’m pleased that one of my pieces, “Honeymoon”  was just published in Last Stanza Poetry Journal. The journal is available in hardcover, softcover, and on Kindle.  Last Stanza is a beautiful journal, so if you’ve any interest in poetry for yourself or as a gift for someone special, please consider ordering a copy.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D28R69VQ/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&dib_tag=se&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.wY0A1oXJxC9H52BkfBJe2CtaMRH1CveI2fvY0_G7fn8.Mup6ucmLiTO910-CxspaHeIT7nqHv9qTyZSSK736WK8&qid=1713626398&sr=1-18

The poem:

 

Honeymoon

Across the Kenyan plains,
armies of fine golden dust
rose and swarmed around every living thing,
clung to skin and lips,
tongue and cornea,
the camera’s shuttered eye.

Who can say when a marriage begins or ends?
There are no dreams here,
she might have thought, no poems.
at night under the mosquito netting,
perhaps she watched his back rise and fall,
didn’t sleep but mourned the years ahead.

Three decades later, she excavated
a brown book of photos, met
a man and a woman, young and familiar,
hats angled away from the dust or each other.

Against a backdrop of zebras grazing,
with elephants walking in the distance,
the two squinted straight into the lens,
the haze already coming between them.

 

–Melinda Coppola

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read More Blog Posts

When all this is over…

WHEN THIS IS OVER Bring bread, chewy and warm, wrapped in that red checkered tablecloth that always sings picnic, which is short for happy family, easy friendships, peace and plenty in our town state country planet. We never went on one, a picnic, not once in all our together years

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The Wisdom of Clouds

“ You are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.” Pema Chodron CIRRUS You are wisp, feet rarely touching dirt. Your gaze cannot be met. They call it lazy eye, but we know better. How could anyone expect you to hone a vision when you straddle a few different

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Prospecting for Grace

Praise The faithful sun, generously stirring energies of Earth and atmosphere, coaxing every green thing towards the rising song of spring. Parents walking with their children outside, smiling and laughing, nodding at neighbors out washing their cars. Quieted streets yielding their usual ruthless noise to melodious birdsong, squirrels rustling in

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The Uninvited Guests

What a time! We are seeing and hearing wide ranging effects of the Covid-19 pandemic on, it seems, every populated part of our planet. In our corner of the world, Bink’s autism and accompanying dependence on schedules has collided headfirst with current realities. Every activity in her life, from her

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Communicable

PROPAGATION I’ve taken to humming in the produce section while caressing the plums, sneaking sniffs of the cilantro, eyeing the lemons, audacious in their yellowry. It’s a low, soothing thing, the thrum of air over vocal chords, nearly a buzz, and I am almost a bumblebee, hovering over color, circling

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Harmonious Discord

This morning I walked early, mismatched garments layered to repel a cold, spitting rain. I’d pushed his baseball cap down hard over the knitted ear band I bought to share with her, which she most emphatically rejected for not being soft enough, or pink. Featherweight Bean jacket— the one that

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BEGIN AGAIN

BEGIN AGAIN “Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning, and under every deep a lower deep opens.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson Begin again is the dry brush dipped

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FISHING

Perched on the frost hardened bank of the wide, cold river, eyes intent on the rushing water, dark and high, I notice the greenish brown river grasses, rooted hopefully in their muddy beds, in a permanent lean as the current pulls them forward, and my eyes train between the reeds,

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Brown Girl Hair Has Left the Building

Bink loves girl hair. For the uninitiated, this translates to long straight hair hanging down, on a female of any age. Preferably, the hair should be visible equally on the right and left sides of her head. I’ve had long brown hair for 25 of my daughter’s 27 years. At

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