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. Loving Working 1/23/2016
19. Lying While Birding 5/22/2015
20. Making A Fist 1/20/2003
21. Many Asked Me Not to Forget Them 6/22/2015
22. My Uncle’s Favorite Coffee Shop 1/4/2012
23. Negotiations with a Volcano 12/10/2015
24. One Way or Another 4/30/2015
25. San Antonio 1/4/2012
26. Sewing, Knitting, Crocheting... 1/13/2003
27. Shoulders 1/4/2012
28. Snow 5/16/2015
29. So Much Happiness 1/4/2012
30. Song Book 12/1/2014
31. Spruce Street, Berkeley 1/4/2012
32. Streets 1/20/2003
33. Supple Cord 1/4/2012
34. The Art Of Disappearing 1/4/2012
35. The Rider 1/4/2012
36. The Small Vases From Hebron 1/4/2012
37. The Story, Around The Corner 1/4/2012
38. The Traveling Onion 12/26/2014
39. The Turtle Shrine Near Chittagong 1/4/2012
40. The Words Under The Words 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

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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