Read Online A Maze Me by Naomi Shihab Nye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Naomi Shihab Nye
Ads: Link
visible to you. Thatâs what I started learning when I was twelve, and I never stopped learning it.
Every year unfolds like a petal inside all the years that preceded it. You will feel your thinking springing up and layering inside your huge mind a little differently. Your thinking will befriend you. Words will befriend you. You will be given more than you could ever dream.
âN AOMI S HIHAB N YE
San Antonio, Texas, 2004
Rose
A very large spider
wove her fancy web
between the Don Juan rosebush
and the Queenâs Crown vine.
We greeted her every day
going in and out.
We had so many destinations
but she just swung there
in the air
in the dayâs long stare
that grows so hot by four oâclock
we boycott the whole front yard.
By evening weâd be outside again
breathing jasmine
watering honeysuckle
plucking mint
and sheâd be wrapping
her little flies and wasps
in sticky sacks.
The trolley rang its bell at us
and we waved back.
It was nice living with Rose.
Living our different lives
side by side.
One night wild thunder
shook the trees,
the sky crackled and split,
the winds blew hard
and by morning
Rose was gone.
Did she wash away?
Did she find a safer home?
She keeps spinning her elegant web
inside us
so long
so long
after the light made it shine.
Mystery
When I was two
I said to my mother
I donât like you, but I like you.
She laughed a long time.
I will spend the rest of my life
trying to figure this out.
Ringing
A baby, I stood in my crib to hear
the dingy-ding of a vegetable truck approaching.
When I was bigger, my mom took me out
to the street
to meet the man who rang the bell and
he tossed me
a tangerine . . . the first thing I ever caught.
I thought he was
a magic man.
My mom said there used to be milk trucks too.
She said, Look hard, heâll be gone soon.
And she was right. He disappeared.
Now, when I hear an ice-cream truck chiming
its bells, I fly.
Even if Iâm not hungryâjust to watch it pass.
Mailmen with their chime of dogs barking
up and down the street are magic too.
They are all bringers.
I want to be a bringer.
I want to drive a truck full of eggplants
down the smallest street.
I want to be someone making music
with my coming.
Toys on the Planet Earth
We need carved wooden cows, kites,
small dolls with flexible limbs.
I vote for the sponge in the shape of a sandwich.
Keep your bad news, world.
Dream of something better.
A triangle mobile spinning in the wind.
Furry monkeys hugging.
When my dad was small,
his only toy was an acorn and a stick.
Thatâs what he told me.
So he carved the acorn into a spinning top
and wrote in the dirt.
And thatâs what made him
the man he is today.
Every Cat Has a Story
âBritish researchers found that a sheep can distinguish and recognize as many as 50 other sheepâs faces for up to two years, even in silhouette.â (NEWSPAPER REPORT)
The yellow cat from the bakery
smelled like a cream puff.
She followed us home.
We buried our faces
in her sweet fur.
One cat hid her head
when I practiced violin.
But she came out for piano.
At night she played sonatas on my quilt.
One cat built a nest in my socks.
One inhabited the windowsill
staring mournfully up the street all day
while I was at school.
One cat pressed the radio dial,
heard a voice come out, and smiled.
Visiting My Old Kindergarten Teacher, Last Day of School
Sheâs packed the brown bear puppet
in the cupboard and distributed
the Self-Portraits with Hats.
I remember those.
She says, âYou look just the same
but bigger! I would know you anywhere!â
I would know her too.
Someoneâs crying.
He doesnât like the little holes
in the corner of his painting
from hanging on display.
I help her gather stubs of crayons
from the table grooves.
Do the plans she made on the first day
seem far away
as pebbles dropped into a stream?
The ones whose names
Every year unfolds like a petal inside all the years that preceded it. You will feel your thinking springing up and layering inside your huge mind a little differently. Your thinking will befriend you. Words will befriend you. You will be given more than you could ever dream.
âN AOMI S HIHAB N YE
San Antonio, Texas, 2004
Rose
A very large spider
wove her fancy web
between the Don Juan rosebush
and the Queenâs Crown vine.
We greeted her every day
going in and out.
We had so many destinations
but she just swung there
in the air
in the dayâs long stare
that grows so hot by four oâclock
we boycott the whole front yard.
By evening weâd be outside again
breathing jasmine
watering honeysuckle
plucking mint
and sheâd be wrapping
her little flies and wasps
in sticky sacks.
The trolley rang its bell at us
and we waved back.
It was nice living with Rose.
Living our different lives
side by side.
One night wild thunder
shook the trees,
the sky crackled and split,
the winds blew hard
and by morning
Rose was gone.
Did she wash away?
Did she find a safer home?
She keeps spinning her elegant web
inside us
so long
so long
after the light made it shine.
Mystery
When I was two
I said to my mother
I donât like you, but I like you.
She laughed a long time.
I will spend the rest of my life
trying to figure this out.
Ringing
A baby, I stood in my crib to hear
the dingy-ding of a vegetable truck approaching.
When I was bigger, my mom took me out
to the street
to meet the man who rang the bell and
he tossed me
a tangerine . . . the first thing I ever caught.
I thought he was
a magic man.
My mom said there used to be milk trucks too.
She said, Look hard, heâll be gone soon.
And she was right. He disappeared.
Now, when I hear an ice-cream truck chiming
its bells, I fly.
Even if Iâm not hungryâjust to watch it pass.
Mailmen with their chime of dogs barking
up and down the street are magic too.
They are all bringers.
I want to be a bringer.
I want to drive a truck full of eggplants
down the smallest street.
I want to be someone making music
with my coming.
Toys on the Planet Earth
We need carved wooden cows, kites,
small dolls with flexible limbs.
I vote for the sponge in the shape of a sandwich.
Keep your bad news, world.
Dream of something better.
A triangle mobile spinning in the wind.
Furry monkeys hugging.
When my dad was small,
his only toy was an acorn and a stick.
Thatâs what he told me.
So he carved the acorn into a spinning top
and wrote in the dirt.
And thatâs what made him
the man he is today.
Every Cat Has a Story
âBritish researchers found that a sheep can distinguish and recognize as many as 50 other sheepâs faces for up to two years, even in silhouette.â (NEWSPAPER REPORT)
The yellow cat from the bakery
smelled like a cream puff.
She followed us home.
We buried our faces
in her sweet fur.
One cat hid her head
when I practiced violin.
But she came out for piano.
At night she played sonatas on my quilt.
One cat built a nest in my socks.
One inhabited the windowsill
staring mournfully up the street all day
while I was at school.
One cat pressed the radio dial,
heard a voice come out, and smiled.
Visiting My Old Kindergarten Teacher, Last Day of School
Sheâs packed the brown bear puppet
in the cupboard and distributed
the Self-Portraits with Hats.
I remember those.
She says, âYou look just the same
but bigger! I would know you anywhere!â
I would know her too.
Someoneâs crying.
He doesnât like the little holes
in the corner of his painting
from hanging on display.
I help her gather stubs of crayons
from the table grooves.
Do the plans she made on the first day
seem far away
as pebbles dropped into a stream?
The ones whose names
Similar Books
