Hush – a poem by Melinda Coppola

Hush


Is it by aging alone
that I landed in this
sparse, harsh forest,

where most branches are sharp,
all bark is sandpaper,
and even the birds.,
diligently practicing their scales,
can sometimes shake my equilibrium,
scrape my eardrums with their calls? 

Perhaps I’ve been led here
by my spirit animal, 
or my dead ancestors, 
or my inner crone,
because the time is nigh
to stand and receive 
my true names:

She Who is Now Highly Sensitive,
She Who Withers Without Solitude.

She Who Can’t Tolerate Crowds,
She For Whom The World is Too Loud.

She Who Craves a Private Island,
She Who Always Wants to Turn Down the TV.

I daydream of places 
called Whisper Town, Quietville,
Introversion Valley.

Is it a disorder, I wonder,
or the naturally 
wise reaction
to a world 
grown garishly turbulent,
jagged, obscene?

Melinda Coppola writes from a messy desk in small town Massachusetts, where her four cats often monitor her progress. She delights in mothering her complicated, enchanting daughter who defies easy description. Melinda’s work has appeared in many fine books and publications, most recently Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Willows Wept Review, Thimble Literary Magazine and One Art: A Journal of Poetry.