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More poems by Naomi Shihab NyeNaomi Shihab Nye | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Naomi Shihab NyeBooks by Naomi Shihab Nye

Half-And-Half

Naomi Shihab Nye

You can't be, says a Palestinian Christian
on the first feast day after Ramadan.
So, half-and-half and half-and-half.
He sells glass.  He knows about broken bits,
chips.  If you love Jesus you can't love
anyone else.  Says he.

At his stall of blue pitchers on the Via Dolorosa,
he's sweeping.  The rubbed stones
feel holy.  Dusting of powdered sugar
across faces of date-stuffed mamool.

This morning we lit the slim white candles
which bend over at the waist by noon.
For once the priests weren't fighting
in the church for the best spots to stand.
As a boy, my father listened to them fight.
This is partly why he prays in no language
but his own.  Why I press my lips
to every exception.

A woman opens a window—here and here and here—
placing a vase of blue flowers
on an orange cloth.  I follow her.
She is making a soup from what she had left
in the bowl, the shriveled garlic and bent bean.
She is leaving nothing out.


Submitted by R. Joyce Heon

Added: 30 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 21 Jun 2018 2:31 AM | Viewed: 10077 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7123/ | Viewed on 21 June 2018.
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