Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

I used a text to carve an island
from a Thursday
in two overloaded lives.

I typed
10 to 11
Walk with me. Moose Hill.

I meant
Come. To the refuge down the road,
the one where boardwalks hover
over murky waters
in which juicy clusters
of grape-like frog eggs
expand in the quiescent womb
of the red oak swamp.

Walk with me.
Ditch the phone,
all ordinary buzz—

where our money is going
how to hedge against
the tidal wave of inflation
what to make for dinner
who will call about the plumbing
pick up the sympathy card
wait with the car
as it’s serviced
we need eggs
did you list that table yet?

Used a text to defy technology,
used a car to walk
carved an island
trod the boardwalk
checked in on
the progress of a miracle—
eggs to tadpoles—

felt the forest floor
soft under sneakers
stroked George and Martha,
the pair of sugar maples
old as the Declaration

rounded the bend towards the bat refuge

I said
Close your eyes. Listen, listen.

Soft breeze.
an auditory cornucopia

warm sun on our upturned faces.

Do you notice?
I finally said,

Everything almost feels
like it’s all right.


Melinda Coppola

















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