Naomi Shihab Nye

(12 March 1952 / St. Louis, Missouri)

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

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

Read the full of Making A Fist

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

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