Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

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

Two Countries

Skin remembers how long the years grow
when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel
of singleness, feather lost from the tail
of a bird, swirling onto a step,
swept away by someone who never saw
it was a feather. Skin ate, walked,
slept by itself, knew how to raise a
see-you-later hand. But skin felt
it was never seen, never known as
a land on the map, nose like a city,
hip like a city, gleaming dome of the mosque
and the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.

Skin had hope, that's what skin does.
Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.
Love means...

Read the full of Two Countries

Streets

A man leaves the world
and the streets he lived on
grow a little shorter.

One more window dark
in this city, the figs on his branches
will soften for birds.

If we stand quietly enough evenings

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