Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

1. Valentine for Ernest Mann 5/9/2015
2. How Palestinians Keep Warm -new- 5/16/2015
3. Arabic -new- 5/16/2015
4. Lying While Birding -new- 5/22/2015
5. Business 5/13/2015
6. Snow -new- 5/16/2015
7. One Way or Another 4/30/2015
8. The Turtle Shrine Near Chittagong 1/4/2012
9. Truth Serum 1/4/2012
10. The Traveling Onion 12/26/2014
11. Song Book 12/1/2014
12. The Words Under The Words 1/4/2012
13. The Story, Around The Corner 1/4/2012
14. Wedding Cake 12/17/2014
15. Fundamentalism 1/4/2012
16. Yellow Glove 1/4/2012
17. Trying To Name What Doesn’t Change 1/4/2012
18. Last August Hours Before The Year 2000 1/4/2012
19. Spruce Street, Berkeley 1/4/2012
20. My Uncle’s Favorite Coffee Shop 1/4/2012
21. San Antonio 1/4/2012
22. The Small Vases From Hebron 1/4/2012
23. Jerusalem 1/4/2012
24. Supple Cord 1/4/2012
25. Hello 1/4/2012
26. Alaska 1/4/2012
27. The Rider 1/4/2012
28. Burning The Old Year 1/4/2012
29. Different Ways To Pray 1/4/2012
30. Hugging The Jukebox 1/4/2012
31. Boy And Egg 1/4/2012
32. Shoulders 1/4/2012
33. Famous 1/4/2012
34. The Art Of Disappearing 1/4/2012
35. So Much Happiness 1/4/2012
36. Sewing, Knitting, Crocheting... 1/13/2003
37. Half-And-Half 1/13/2003
38. Streets 1/20/2003
39. Two Countries 1/20/2003
40. Hidden 1/13/2003
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 ...

Read the full of Making A Fist

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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