So I'll read this poem.
It's called "Afternoon in Yootó."
Yootó is the Navajo name for Santa Fe.
"The Santa Fe afternoon is warm and bright.
The dogs are delirious to be outdoors.
They prance about, panting loudly.
Simmer down, guys, I say.
They don't have to wear jackets today.
Once my husband said they were embarrassed to wear jackets.
I never saw an embarrassed dog, I said.
He just smiled.
A few months ago on another warm afternoon,
my mother sat on the comfortable old couch
in front of the wood stove.
The stove is in the center of the house
where it is dim and cool.
After straightening the kitchen, I sat beside her.
Aw, I said, leaning against her.
This means tell me stories or tell me what's going on.
"T'áá 'ákódí," she said.
That's all.
We both laughed.
I adjusted the pillow behind her head as she leaned back.
I slipped my hand into hers and leaned against her.
Her hands are warm and thin.
Unlike mine, she has slim, elegant fingers.
She patted my hand.
And we were silent.
We were alone in the quiet house.
Across the road, a cow bellowed.
And somewhere by the wash, dogs were barking playfully.
One sounded like a puppy.
Here in the living room, we rested, closing our eyes.
Then she said with her eyes still closed, let's sing.
So I started a song.
And she joined in.
I sang close to her so she could hear.
We sang several songs.
Then she started one.
And I was quiet.
I don't know that one, I said, after she raised her head
and looked at me.
You do, she said.
One time I heard you singing it.
She kept on singing.
And after a while, I got it and we finished.
[? Hooa, ?] she said like she was tired.
She fell asleep.
I kept holding her hand and leaning on her.
I wanted to sleep but couldn't.
But it was just she and I sitting together
on a late summer afternoon.
Her cat Kitty Ba jumped on the couch
and stretched out beside us.
Kitty Ba and Mom always napped at the same time.
Today in Yootó, there's snow on the highest peaks of the Sangre
de Cristos, the Mountain of the Blood of Christ.
The bright snow is startling across the deep blue sky.
It's warm enough to use the screen door.
The afternoon sun slants into the kitchen in thin lines.
The dogs sleep on the warm tile squares.
It's mid-October in Yootó, where beads of clear,
cold water form an ancient necklace that encircle
the Sangre de Cristos."