I'm going to try something new tonight,
and it involves this little thing here.
I think I did it.
This is called "One Adobe at a Time."
"We coiled each row with mud bricks,
lifting, measuring, shaping one adobe at a time.
This earth vessel rounded into rooms we raise our children in,
staggered bricks of straw mud and sand
like the Towa before us who sculpted their own shelters
upward, in basic uneven layers one adobe at a time.
In our vessel there are thousands
of adobes anchored to a solid bed of concrete,
evenly distributing the weight of wall 17 feet high.
My husband designed our cradle of packed earth,
keeping with the adobe tradition of simple wavering lines that
move quietly, curving in and out of rooms one after the other.
Plastering, molding, and repacking an endless supply
of bricks until our mud shell stood
upright, massive and invincible.
Sounds easily surrender to walls absorbing
the details of our lives.
Coughs from sick children, romantic whispers,
and heated debates all digested into porous layers of mortar.
I shake my head, thinking only Mother Earth would permit such
a burden, allowing us to dig foundations into her skin,
and for giving us the weight of tons and tons of mass,
yet holding us safe and steady.
Our vessel made from her brown solid skin.
Earth mother, giving all that she is one adobe at a time."
[APPLAUSE]