Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

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

Blood

"A true Arab knows how to catch a fly in his hands,"
my father would say. And he'd prove it,
cupping the buzzer instantly
while the host with the swatter stared.

In the spring our palms peeled like snakes.
True Arabs believed watermelon could heal fifty ways.
I changed these to fit the occasion.

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