Honeybee by Naomi Shihab Nye Read Free Book Online Page B

get   me
    to do
    anything

Parents of Murdered Palestinian Boy Donate His Organs to Israelis
    Ahmed Ismail Khatib, you died,
    but you have so many bodies now.
    You became a much bigger boy.
    You became a girl too—
    your kidneys, your liver, your heart.
    So many people needed what you had.
    In a terrible moment,
    your parents pressed against
    spinning cycles of revenge
    to do something better.
    They stretched.
    What can that say to the rest of us?
    In the photograph your hand
    is raised to your chin—position of thought.
    This was not your intention.
    But people you will never meet are cheering.
    Please keep telling us something true.
    Because of your kidneys, your liver, your heart—
    we must—simply must —be bigger too.

Before I Read The Kite Runner
    I held it on my lap on the plane in Cairo while other passengers were boarding. It seemed like a good book to read, finally, on such a long flight. I’d had it since it came out, but now the time felt right. Two men from Yemen across the aisle, who had been snoozing when the Egypt passengers first boarded, pointed and said, “Good book! Good book!” Some women from Germany patted my head and said, “We loved that book.” An American man with his wife leaned over and said, “It opened our eyes.” What a surprise! Everyone on the plane seemed to have read it before me. And they were all my friends simply because I was holding it!
    Â 
    Maybe we should just wander around other countries carrying books.

The First Time I Was Old
    The sky crackled
    with scary lightning.
    Our fuel tank
    had to be drained and refilled
    before the plane could fly.
    I said “Hi” to the 20-ish guy
    taking the next seat.
    He had bumped a woman
    across the aisle
    saying, “Sorry! My elbow,”
    so I know he spoke English.
    He took one long look at me
    and decidedly
    didn’t answer.

Useless
    Threat alert at airport is
    ORANGE
    Okay
    I’ll put on my orange personality
    orange gaze
    for faces all around me
    for paper bags stashed next to
    not in
    the rubbish bin

Jonathan’s Kiwi Cake
    From the side it’s a sculpture
    arcs of kiwi
    small green doors
    almond glaze streaking across top
    He’s a genius
    but don’t tell him that
    They say he doesn’t like to be noticed
    Could that be true?
    I love his photographs, too
    layerings of people
    rich icings of city crowds
    â€œshot from the hip” he says
    â€œrather literally”
    He doesn’t say much more
    The cakes were lined up on the dessert table
    when we came to lunch
    Jonathan had disappeared
    gone back to the small cottage he lives in
    so he wouldn’t have to say
    you’re welcome you’re welcome you’re welcome

Consolation
    This morning the newspaper
    was too terrible to deliver
    so the newsboy just pitched out
    a little sheaf
    of Kleenex.

For Rudolf Staffel
    Your trough was crammed with chips & bits,
    pieces of fired porcelain, broken things.
    â€œThey’re my teachers,” you said kindly,
    tipping your hat.
    On any street, in any crowded room,
    you saw beyond the visible shapes.
    â€œWhere are you from?” It was always earth
    we are all from, but forget—
    you held it, listened to its breath,
    found its fluent curve.
    And what you became was a new way of being.
    What you touched, the openhearted vessels
    brilliant, bold, and true.
    You weren’t afraid to experiment,
    swerve. Giving freely, translating radiance,
    all you knew. Conveying it
    so anyone in your presence loved their own lives
    and anything they had seen or might be, more.
    You were the window the light came through.

Hot Stone Massage
    Because my body has been
    rubbed with hot black stones
    I will now be able to grow older
    with dignity.
    It was easy to sense
    the soil and dust
    we all become
    somewhere in the hot heart
    of stone memory
    and it wasn’t scary at all.
    It was more home than home.
    There were no chores.

Regular Days
    Look at