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Steps Naomi Shihab Nye A man letters the sign for his grocery in Arabic and English. Paint dries more quickly in English. The thick swoops and curls of Arabic letters stay moist and glistening till tomorrow when the children show up jingling their dimes. They have learned the currency of the new world, carrying wishes for gum and candies shaped like fish. They float through the streets of Dearborn, diving deep to the bottom, nosing rich layers of crusted shell. One of these children will tell a story that keeps her people alive. We don't know yet which one she is. Girl in the red sweater dangling a book bag, sister with eyes pinned to the barrel of pumpkin seeds. They are lettering the sidewalk with their steps. They are separate and together and a little bit late. Carrying a creased note, "Don't forget/' Who wrote it? They've already forgotten. The purple fish sticks to the back of the throat. Their long laughs are boats they will ride and ride, making the shadows that cross each other's smiles. Reprinted by permission of the author from Fuel (Rochester, N.Y.: BOA Editions, 1998), 79. 611 ...

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