Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

1. The Turtle Shrine Near Chittagong 1/4/2012
2. The Story, Around The Corner 1/4/2012
3. Truth Serum 1/4/2012
4. Song Book 12/1/2014
5. Wedding Cake 12/17/2014
6. The Words Under The Words 1/4/2012
7. The Traveling Onion 12/26/2014
8. Yellow Glove 1/4/2012
9. Fundamentalism 1/4/2012
10. Trying To Name What Doesn’t Change 1/4/2012
11. Spruce Street, Berkeley 1/4/2012
12. The Small Vases From Hebron 1/4/2012
13. The Rider 1/4/2012
14. Last August Hours Before The Year 2000 1/4/2012
15. Burning The Old Year 1/4/2012
16. My Uncle’s Favorite Coffee Shop 1/4/2012
17. Alaska 1/4/2012
18. Supple Cord 1/4/2012
19. San Antonio 1/4/2012
20. Jerusalem 1/4/2012
21. Hello 1/4/2012
22. Boy And Egg 1/4/2012
23. Different Ways To Pray 1/4/2012
24. Shoulders 1/4/2012
25. Hugging The Jukebox 1/4/2012
26. Famous 1/4/2012
27. The Art Of Disappearing 1/4/2012
28. So Much Happiness 1/4/2012
29. Sewing, Knitting, Crocheting... 1/13/2003
30. Half-And-Half 1/13/2003
31. Streets 1/20/2003
32. Hidden 1/13/2003
33. Two Countries 1/20/2003
34. Blood 1/20/2003
35. Making A Fist 1/20/2003
Best Poem of Naomi Shihab Nye

Making A Fist

We forget that we are all dead men conversing wtih dead men.
—Jorge Luis Borges

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

'How do you know if you are going to die?'
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she ...

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Half-And-Half

You can't be, says a Palestinian Christian
on the first feast day after Ramadan.
So, half-and-half and half-and-half.
He sells glass. He knows about broken bits,
chips. If you love Jesus you can't love
anyone else. Says he.

At his stall of blue pitchers on the Via Dolorosa,
he's sweeping. The rubbed stones

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