Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

SO THERE, by             Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography

Naomi Shihab Nye’s "So There" is a humorous yet deeply perceptive exploration of childhood defiance, parental bewilderment, and the ways memory distills small moments into lasting impressions. The poem captures the intense emotional responses of children navigating autonomy and expression, while also reflecting on how these moments are preserved in the minds of both parent and child. Through fragmented, conversational language and striking images, Nye explores the tension between authority and individuality, love and frustration, memory and identity.

The poem opens with an incident between a mother and her "four-year-old son," who, in protest of being denied "frosted mini-wheat cereal / fifteen minutes before dinner," makes a dramatic declaration: "LOVE HAS FAILED." The child’s theatrical despair, expressed through a handwritten note, is both comical and poignant. The fact that he "wrote the word LOVE on a paper / stapled it twenty times / and said I STAPLE YOU OUT" suggests not only his frustration but his attempt to make tangible and irreversible his discontent. The stapling, an act of literal attachment, paradoxically conveys a desire for separation—his way of striking back against perceived injustice. This moment exemplifies how children, still learning the language of conflict and reconciliation, turn to grand gestures to express emotions too big for them to process verbally.

The following lines shift from the immediate incident to a reflection on memory itself: "memory stitching / its gauze shroud / to fit any face." This metaphor suggests that memory, like a bandage, both protects and alters what it covers. The boy, as he grows older, will likely recall this moment differently—perhaps exaggerating his mother’s meanness or forgetting the specifics of why he was upset, but retaining the sense of emotional intensity. The line "he will say to his friends / she was mean" acknowledges that childhood grievances often take on a new shape in recollection, independent of their actual significance.

As the poem moves forward, the speaker describes the child’s future personality: "he will have little interest / in diagramming sentences / the boy / has good taste / enormous capacities / for high-tech language / but will struggle / to bring his lunchbox home." This characterization paints a picture of a child who will grow into a capable yet absentminded individual, someone drawn to abstract or digital realms but less adept at mundane, everyday responsibilities. The reference to "high-tech language" suggests a future where language evolves beyond traditional forms, reflecting how communication shifts generationally.

The perspective broadens further into a poetic, almost mystical remembrance: "I remember / you / you’re the one I stared at in the / cloud when I wasn’t paying / attention to people / on the ground." This dreamlike reflection shifts the focus from the literal events of childhood to a broader meditation on presence and absence. The cloud imagery suggests a kind of reverence for the child’s spirit, acknowledging that certain personalities seem to exist in their own orbit, untethered from the expectations imposed upon them.

The second half of the poem introduces another child, a "three-year-old" girl whose defiance takes the form of excessive adornment. For her preschool interview, she refuses to remove layers of clothing, instead "putting on a second pair of tights" when asked to take something off. Her mother’s exasperation—"please I’m begging you / what will they think of us"—captures the parental anxiety about social perception, the fear that a child’s stubborn expression of self will reflect poorly on the family. But the girl remains steadfast in her aesthetic vision, layering "all eight of her pastel barrettes into her hair at once" and even attempting to wear "four shoes," though physically unable to fit them on. The mother’s exclamation—"you look like a mountain / who has come to live with me"—is both humorous and poignant, portraying the child’s overwhelming presence as something massive, immovable, and awe-inspiring.

By placing these two childhood portraits side by side, Nye highlights the ways in which children assert themselves, whether through dramatic declarations of failed love or through an excess of self-styling. Both instances reveal an innate desire for autonomy, a need to define oneself against the structures of parental control. At the same time, the parents in these scenarios, while exasperated, do not suppress their children’s expressions but instead absorb them, recognizing their significance even as they struggle to manage them.

The repetition of lines—"but will struggle / to bring his lunchbox home" and "I remember / you / you’re the one I stared at in the / cloud when I wasn’t paying / attention to people / on the ground"—reinforces the poem’s cyclical nature. Just as children repeat behaviors that frustrate their parents, memory itself loops back, reshaping moments over time. These refrains underscore the persistence of personality, suggesting that the qualities evident in childhood—stubbornness, theatricality, a refusal to conform—will continue to shape the individuals they become.

"So There" ultimately serves as both a tribute to childhood defiance and a meditation on how memory frames our understanding of those moments. Naomi Shihab Nye captures the humor, frustration, and tenderness that exist within everyday interactions between parents and children. The poem’s fragmented structure mimics the way memories surface—sometimes clear, sometimes overlapping, sometimes repeated without explanation—reflecting how the past lingers in the mind. By the end, the reader is left with the sense that these small battles of will, these seemingly trivial moments of resistance, are not just part of growing up but fundamental to the formation of self.


Copyright (c) 2025 PoetryExplorer





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...



Home: PoetryExplorer.net