And then finally, another one about a woman
that I watched for five minutes and made
these observations about her and put down in this little piece.
And it's just called "Just Like Home."
The young woman buys a piece of fresh fried bread
from the Indian Parents' Association's booth.
"Oh, just like home," she said.
"Do you have any salt?"
I pour a small amount in her palm.
She sprinkles it on her bread and she takes a bite.
Mm, just like home."
She seems unaware she has her eyes
closed as she eats and talks.
The delicate bite of freshly cooked bread takes her back.
She stands on a street in downtown Tucson
and thinks of women so familiar to her.
Her mother, her sisters cooking outside.
In the distance, the sound of someone
chopping wood, a barking dog.
Pinion smoke is so real for her right now.
Her hair might smell of it if she moved
and the breeze caught her just right.
[APPLAUSE]