Naomi Shihab Nye’s “Making a Fist” by SamReedIII Lyrics
"We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men"
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico
I felt the life sliding out of me
A drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear
I was seven, I lay in the car
Watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother
We had been traveling for days
With strange confidence she answered
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey
The borders we must cross separately
Stamped with our unanswerable woes
I who did not die, who am still living
Still lying in the backseat behind all my questions
Clenching and opening one small hand
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico
I felt the life sliding out of me
A drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear
I was seven, I lay in the car
Watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother
We had been traveling for days
With strange confidence she answered
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey
The borders we must cross separately
Stamped with our unanswerable woes
I who did not die, who am still living
Still lying in the backseat behind all my questions
Clenching and opening one small hand