Coe writes about his parents with warmth, insight, and grace . . . with
celebration as well as regret. A collection that captures the tenderness
and intimacy within the black family. His words construct a path from
the innocence of childhood into the winter of aging. His book will
outlive much of the poetry being written today.--E. Ethelbert Miller
No relationship is more personal, yet universal, than that of parent and
child. These richly detailed poems connect readers with their own
experiences in that most fundamental of relationships, and are poignant
reminders that the lives of those closest to us sometimes offer the
deepest mysteries.
domesticity
pampered little girl
no crystal ball to warn you
of dirty laundry mountains.
From How My Father Learned to Cook:
Because of the tomatoes in a neighbor's garden,
my father learned to cook. Because of late summer
home-grown Indiana tomatoes, drooping on the vine
my father learned to cook. Imagine him at twelve leaning
over the fence of the neighbor's garden curious but shy,
and the neighbor pointing to the open gate.
Imagine father digging in the soil, caught in the rhythm
of the gardener's dance
and later handing his surprised mother
the overstuffed paper bag.
A pretty story, but it never happened; here's what did:
Charles Coe's poetry and prose have appeared in numerous newspapers
and magazines, and his poems have been set to music by composers Julia
Carey, Beth Denisch, and Robert Moran. Coe also writes feature articles,
book reviews, and interviews for Harvard Magazine, Northeastern
University Law Review, and the Boston Phoenix. He is also a jazz
vocalist, performing and recording throughout New England.
