Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

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 still Little Stream and Wee […]

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 glad to have a friend. […]

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 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-5/   Part 6 […]

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 Lily Pond was silent for […]

(She is) Unbroken

Unbroken There were times I imagined you different. My young mother mind pictured you— normal, typical, non-disabled. I can’t use those words anymore for their opposites evoke— lack, absence, tragedy, and you, my child, are a celebration of plenty, a bounty of delight, a well of fascination. In fact, you stand against the backdrop of […]

First Digit Singular

This Is What Really Happened Trigger warnings: Run-on sentences. Querulousness.   Thirteen days ago I had my thumb joint reconstructed. This was  elective and a long time coming—both carpo-metacarpals whittled down to bone on bone, naked osseous matter grinding boorishly against its equally unclothed neighbor, hyaline cartilage having fled years ago. I chose the off […]