I utter Naomi Shihab Nye's poem, " The Rider", and thought it would get a good kind poem. When I picked up the book again a few weeks later, I couldn't recall which poem I wanted to use. I paged through 3 of her books on my shelf, started reading and rediscovered "Making a paw " which I had heard her read years ago and had reread many times. I in the end found "The Rider." I wasn't doomed which one I would use for the prompt.
All by Naomi Shihab Nye, 2003 conspicuous Poet devising a paw For the first-born time, on the road north of Tampico, I mat the aliveness slippery out of me, a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear. The cat sleeping on the trader is notable to the birds watching him from the birdhouse. The idea you carry close to your bosom is famous to your bosom. I was seven, I lay in the car Watching laurel wreath trees swirl a loathsome pattern gone the glass. The boot is illustrious to the earth, more far-famed than the article of clothing shoe, which is renowned only to floors. At his stall of blue pitchers on the Via Dolorosa he’s sweeping. Dusting of pulverized sugar crosswise faces of date-stuffed mamool. I who did not die, who am calm living, Still prevarication in the backseat fanny all my questions, Clenching and opening one infinitesimal hand. The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the terra firma before anybody said so.
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