Naomi Shihab Nye’s "Trying to Name What Doesn’t Change" is a meditation on impermanence, a poem that questions whether anything in life remains truly constant. Through a series of observations and shifting perspectives, the poem resists easy answers, instead illustrating the fluidity of time, memory, and even seemingly solid structures. The attempt to name the unchanging becomes an act of reflection, exposing the way things subtly shift—even when they appear stable. By weaving personal, historical, and natural imagery together, Nye crafts a poem that is both philosophical and deeply human, acknowledging the ways we try to hold onto permanence while life continues to transform around us. The poem opens with Roselva’s assertion:
"Roselva says the only thing that doesn’t change / is train tracks. She’s sure of it."
This statement presents the idea of stability as something definite, unquestioned. Train tracks, made of steel and wood, extending in fixed directions, seem immovable. Roselva’s certainty—"She’s sure of it."—reinforces the belief that some things remain untouched by time. However, the following lines introduce subtle contradictions:
"The train changes, or the weeds that grow up spidery / by the side, but not the tracks."
Even as Roselva insists on the constancy of tracks, she acknowledges the transformation around them—the movement of trains, the growth of weeds. These external changes suggest that even fixed things exist in a changing world, surrounded by impermanence. The tension between change and stability deepens with Peter’s counterpoint:
"Peter isn’t sure. He saw an abandoned track / near Sabinas, Mexico, and says a track without a train / is a changed track."
Here, the idea of permanence is challenged. Peter observes that a track, once abandoned, is no longer the same. His assertion—"a track without a train is a changed track."—shifts the focus from physical alteration to purpose. The track itself remains, but its function has disappeared, altering its significance. This distinction raises a larger question: is something truly unchanged if its role, context, or meaning evolves? The description of the abandoned track reinforces physical change as well:
"The metal wasn’t shiny anymore. / The wood was split and some of the ties were gone."
Decay, wear, and neglect become markers of transformation. Even something as seemingly permanent as train tracks succumbs to the forces of time. The contrast between Roselva’s certainty and Peter’s doubt sets up the poem’s central tension: the search for something truly immutable. The poem then moves to another scene, broadening the scope beyond train tracks:
"Every Tuesday on Morales Street / butchers crack the necks of a hundred hens."
This stark, visceral image introduces the brutal repetition of daily life. The predictability of the event suggests a kind of constancy, yet death itself is a change—the hens do not remain the same. The violence of the action contrasts with the rhythmic routine of its occurrence, emphasizing how even repetition cannot prevent transformation. Similarly, the widow’s actions contain both continuity and change:
"The widow in the tilted house / spices her soup with cinnamon."
Like the butchers, the widow engages in a habitual act, but the use of "tilted house" implies decay, an ongoing shift in her environment. While she may season her soup in the same way each time, she is moving through a life that has been altered—her status as a widow means she has already undergone profound loss. The poem then moves into the realm of nature and personal memory:
"Stars explode. / The rose curls up as if there is fire in the petals. / The cat who knew me is buried under the bush."
Here, cosmic and intimate changes are placed side by side. The reference to exploding stars reminds us that even celestial bodies, often associated with permanence, are subject to destruction and rebirth. The rose, often a symbol of beauty and delicacy, takes on an image of burning, suggesting transformation rather than endurance. Finally, the mention of "the cat who knew me" personalizes loss—memory becomes the only thing keeping the past intact, but even memory is unreliable. The final lines return to the train, but now, instead of focusing on the tracks, the poem highlights sound and its ephemeral nature:
"The train whistle still wails its ancient sound / but when it goes away, shrinking back / from the walls of the brain, / it takes something different with it every time."
The "ancient sound" of the train whistle suggests continuity—something old, something familiar. Yet, the way it "shrinks back / from the walls of the brain" introduces the idea that perception alters experience. Each time the whistle fades, it "takes something different with it." This suggests that even memory, which might seem like the most reliable way to preserve constancy, is fluid. The past is not fixed—it shifts, depending on how it is recalled. "Trying to Name What Doesn’t Change" ultimately resists a definitive answer. Through contrasting perspectives, recurring actions, and the interplay between memory and reality, Nye reveals that nothing remains entirely static. Even the things we perceive as stable—train tracks, routine, familiar sounds—are subject to change, whether through physical decay, shifting context, or the impermanence of perception itself. The poem suggests that while we may search for constancy, we must also recognize the inevitability of transformation. In doing so, Nye offers a meditation on time, loss, and the way we hold onto what we believe to be unchanging, even as the world moves forward.
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