I’ve got the poem (Making a Fist) by Naomi Shihab Nye from one of my favorite literary websites, poets.org.
I’m not digging to the poem’s meaning for I want this post to be brief, to just contain the poem, and to focus on how this poem got posted here. I could give you a gist of how happy am I to post this poem.
One time, I’ve rummaged the site for fun and I’ve been so delighted of what I’ve perceived. I found this poem as I click links in the site. The next few days, I’ve lost the link that contains this poem. I’ve been sad on accounts of not seeing it any more, but now it has been compromised and I’m happy with it. I’ve been soo engrossed with the message of and the words in the poem right after I’ve read it on-and-on.
Making a Fist
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 answered, "When you can no longer make a fist." Years later I smile to think of that journey, the borders we must cross separately, stamped with our unanswerable woes. I who did not die, who am still living, still lying in the backseat behind all my questions, clenching and opening one small hand.
There’s even an audio from the author that you could hear to while reading and reflecting on what the poem says to you. Here’s the complete link that i’m finding since last week… and I’m not losing it any more 🙂 :