Naomi Shihab Nye lives in San Antonio. Here she perfectly captures a moment in childhood that nearly all of us may remember: being too small...

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Naomi Shihab Nye lives in San Antonio. Here she perfectly captures a moment in childhood that nearly all of us may remember: being too small for the games the big kids were playing, and fastening tightly upon some little thing of our own.

Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate

Every few minutes, he wants

to march the trail of flattened rye grass

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back to the house of muttering

hens. He too could make

a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh

it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it

to his ear while the other children

laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,

so little yet, too forgetful in games,

ready to cry if the ball brushed him,

riveted to the secret of birds

caught up inside his fist,

not ready to give it over

to the refrigerator

or the rest of the day.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Reprinted from “Fuel,” published by BOA Editions by permission of the author. Copyright © 1998 by Naomi Shihab Nye, whose most recent book is “A Maze Me” Harper Collins/Greenwillow, 2004. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry. “American Life in Poetry” appears Fridays in Northwest Life.