Arabic Coffee by Naomi Shihab Nye

I feel this poem is more than just coffee but rather the memories and traditions that are formed around that special pot.  That pot of coffee is the cornerstone for our family gatherings.  The place where parents and grandparents share their life experiences with each other and with the children.  These loved ones sharing their heritage with their children will be gone as quickly as the next pot of coffee.  Sit up close to the table, children, and listen with your minds and with your hearts. 

When I was growing up, I remember the coffee being made on the stove.  We used a funny looking sock holder with a handle.  The end always had something in it that made it look heavy and dark.  It looked like a sock to me then but now I know it was a strainer.  As the “sock” cooked in the pot on the stove, I, too, would lean over the stove (pg.38) and see this thick black soupy mixture.  The smell was strong but sweet at the same time.  Using our true traditional ways, our mixture required no sugar or milk.  Bread was the only piece of food that came with it.  It was used for dipping.  At times my mother would give me a piece of her dipped bread.  The taste was incredible.

Everyone gathered around the table and enjoyed this wonderful coffee and bread.  Food for most people is more than sustenance.  It is a social event.  My family was no different.  The laughter and storytelling began rapidly around the table.  If I was lucky, the room was full of grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Each had their own childhood memory to share.  And then each had their own spin on the memory that had been shared.  After hearing these stories told hundreds of times, I could listen to them a hundred more times.  It is my heritage; it is my child’s heritage.

So for some people and some cultures, coffee isn’t just a cup of coffee.  It warms us from the inside out and stays with us for a lifetime.

In & Out of Time by Maya Angelou

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.

I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out of time.
When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor

I had always loved you more.
You freed your braids...
gave your hair to the breeze.
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.

You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares to dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time.

I feel this poem is about two slaves who have been taken from their home.  As the morning skies clear up, they both can see that home is farther and farther away.  They haven't left home of their own free will.  They’ve been ripped from their homes and everything familiar to them.  They are frightened.  Both are trying to be strong and support the other. 

One of them is reflecting on moments in time and his feelings in that moment.  These memories play in his mind like a movie reinforcing his love for her and giving him the strength to continue on.  He feels as though they have been together since the beginning of time.  He can’t remember a time in his life when she was not by his side. 

She was so young when they met.  He was only a few years her elder but life had matured him well beyond his years.  She came to rely upon him and him upon her – each drawing strength from the other.  Life can be difficult but as long as they were together, they could endure anything.  They have survived since the beginning of time.

Unfortunately, she bears witness to him bludgeoned.  He is unable to keep his pain inside.  He yells and screams out loud looking up at the heavens.  Why me?  Why me?  Together they try to surpass these unforgiving moments.  Each time he begins to make their dreams a reality, something gets in his way and their dreams are lost – over and over again. 

Now they have been torn from their home; torn from everything that has any meaning to them; torn from their reality; torn from their lives.  He feels as though he has failed her.  She feels he is her hero.  He will always be her hero.  As they look together into the distance, they know their love for each other will be forever.