Jerusalem: A Poem by Naomi Shihab-Nye
olives
There's something so accessible and intensely moving about the poetry of Naomi Shihab Nye. Her words are truthful, graceful, and pure of heart, and I've often posted or quoted poems by her because she makes so much sense to me, saying with such eloquence what I only wish I could express. (I've even had the pleasure of meeting her a few times, and we've sort of been pen pals over the years.)
Born in St. Louis, the daughter of a Palestinian refugee father and an American mother, Naomi has lived in many places, including Ramallah and Jerusalem. For years she has made her home in San Antonio, but she still describes herself as a wandering poet, and indeed she is. I wish the world were ready to heed her calls for peace and forgiveness. This poem was written several years ago but never ceases to seem relevant.
Jerusalem
By Naomi Shihab Nye
“Let’s be the same wound if we must bleed.
Let’s fight side by side, even if the enemy
is ourselves: I am yours, you are mine.”
—Tommy Olofsson, Sweden
I’m not interested in
who suffered the most.
I’m interested in
people getting over it.
Once when my father was a boy
a stone hit him on the head.
Hair would never grow there.
Our fingers found the tender spot
and its riddle: the boy who has fallen
stands up. A bucket of pears
in his mother’s doorway welcomes him home.
The pears are not crying.
Later his friend who threw the stone
says he was aiming at a bird.
And my father starts growing wings.
Each carries a tender spot:
something our lives forgot to give us.
A man builds a house and says,
“I am native now.”
A woman speaks to a tree in place
of her son. And olives come.
A child’s poem says,
“I don’t like wars,
they end up with monuments.”
He’s painting a bird with wings
wide enough to cover two roofs at once.
Why are we so monumentally slow?
Soldiers stalk a pharmacy:
big guns, little pills.
If you tilt your head just slightly
it’s ridiculous.
There’s a place in my brain
where hate won’t grow.
I touch its riddle: wind, and seeds.
Something pokes us as we sleep.
It’s late but everything comes next.