This old lady gets up early at 7 o'clock every morning.
She says her morning prayer then makes hot tea only to sit and enjoy the start of the day through the window.
Brother and I wake up later where there is fresh tortillas and hot breakfast available to us.
I proceed to wash the dishes while brother cleans up the table.

Later that afternoon, this old lady sits in the house that her brother made long ago.
Another day in the hot desert climate,she sits in the cool adobe made house,where I watch her.
As I watch her,I see her with her apron on, polishing her pottery that will soon be painted.
She hums indian songs and doesn't seem notice me as she paints those famous Acoma Pueblo designs.

It is time for a late lunch and she makes a sandwich along with a diet coke.
We sit and eat in the living room while the sun peers through, she speaks da'ah'shi'ya (our language) to me.
She speaks of the days when she was at sheep camp, telling humorous stories about my ah'nais (uncles).
I listen eagerly even though I've heard of them plenty of times but never get old of them.

..But this old lady is gone,

gone physically but never out of my memory.