When I close my eyes and think of my home place

I can hear my grandma Mables gentle voice and laughter as we talked
    in the evening with only a kerosene lamp and radio being our
    guests,
I can hear the fine-grained sand growing in intensity during the
    evening as it hits the outside of our doors and windows,
I can hear the water starting to boil on our wood stove for my
    nightly bath,
I can hear my grandma singing Christian songs softly in Diné
    language as she spun her wool,
I can hear our roosters expressing themselves freely every morning
    and evening.
These are things I can hear when I close my eyes . . .

I can see the sun rising slowly above Huerfano Mountain with the
    rooster greeting the new day,
I can see the billy goats and baby sheep running up and me smiling
    instantly because this is such a special feeling,
I can see my grandma pulling up in her white Ford-100 pickup as she
    picked me up from Bible school,
I can see the many dirt roads that never seem to end,
I can see the old green outhouse that always seemed to get farther
    and farther out of reach when you needed it most.
These are things I can see when I close my eyes . . .

I can smell mutton stew cooking as I wake up out of bed,
I can smell the wet dirt after a monsoon rain,
I can smell a strong musky odor coming from the sheep as they came
    up to feed,
I can smell the dust from the tile floors as I sleep and dream,
I can smell the toasting sage in the middle of the hot afternoon.
These are things I can smell when I close my eyes . . .

I can feel my grandmas soft satin long sleeve shirt and matching
    dress as she holds me in her lap telling me a story of the old ways,
I can feel my grandma's warm blankets wrapping me every night as
    I go to sleep,
I can feel the warmth of the sun and the dry hitting me as I wake up
    every morning,
I can feel the warm sand as I walk barefoot to play outside.
These are things I can feel when I close my eyes . . .

I can taste the small sand grains between my teeth as a windstorm
    starts to come,
I can taste the kneel-down-bread with steamed corn and green
    chili stew,
I can taste the fresh Diné tea, brewed by my grandma every morning,
I can taste the sweet corn pollen being placed in my mouth every
    morning as my grandma did her morning prayers.
These are things I can taste when I close my eyes . . .