Medicament

Medicament

This morning’s waking,
tight and tender to the touch,
felt like neck ache,

and all along
the spine of this day
my heart climbed and slid,

ridge-riding
the grief and uncertainty
of these past months,

pushing up towards
bone-like pinnacles,
vertebraic protrusions
of more bad news—
illness and violence,
economic cancer,
people hating their neighbors—

and then
the intentional slide
over cushiony discs
hydrated with hope,

into valleys lush with
stories of great kindness,
dotted with golden gifts,
small sweet buds of peace
that can only bloom
with softened expectations.

Now at the tailbone
of a long sixteen hours,
no Downward Facing Dog
or Bridge Pose can save me
from this hunched pecking
at the keyboard,
almost desperate
to whiplash out a poem
or some semblance thereof.

How many ways
can we find
to harm each other?

and

Aren’t there an equal
number of ways
we can lift and hold,

tilt a hurting person
towards the light,
say

Look—
the way your cheek curves
towards your chin
is poetry.

And

You, over there—
talking to your cats
with your eyes alone,
see how they respond
by blinking back, slowly?

And

Old man, I’ve seen you
water your plants
with deep, unquestioned faith
that they’ll leaf and angle
towards the sun—

and isn’t that grace,

and aren’t we all,
every one of us,
a cure
for someone’s
unease?

–Melinda Coppola

CAThartic

Leroy and Olive, Ruby looking on

Leroy and Olive, Ruby looking on

 

“Comes a time, “ said the first cat, when you can decide to be different than you were. You can stop scratching at the window, scheming to find a way to get back OUT THERE. You can stop re-living , over and over in your head, the pleasures and perils of running free, looking for cover, trying to keep warm, prizing yourself with baby rabbits and chipmunks and mice and voles.

“You can decide. You can settle into sleeping all day in a sun patch on a soft carpet. You can spend the eve stalking the four corners of each room and pouncing on bugs and worms and little bits of leaf that found its way in from the garden. You can learn to love the predictable plate of food, half crunch and half fish-smelling soft mash. You can decide to trust the big clumsy humans who demand little, really, except a small patience and tolerance of a head scratch, a lap pat.”

The other felines looked, half-listened, began licking their paws in preparation for a preen.

“Point is,” the first cat said, “the big bright light comes every morning, and the big soft dark pushes it away every eve, and you can be new if you want to, because the old bright is over. You can decide how to be. “

 

carly-12-16-12

Carly

carly-girl

-Melinda Coppola