Saturday, June 30, 2012



If you squint, you might see the pigeon
who landed on the windowsill to the right outside.
If you can't see it, you can know it's there,
and that it's an old friend of mine.

The Individuals
Naomi Shihab Nye
The river is famous to the fish.
The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.
The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.
The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.
The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.
The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.
The bent photograph is famous
to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.
I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.
I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole,
not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

Never forget.

Post Script
"Poetry Everywhere"
(Thanks to Nancy E.)



deanna7trees said...

yes...i can see the pigeon on the ledge. loved reading Naomi's poem.

Nancy said...

I love this poem and the individual birds looking out. I think I see the pigeon!