Safe House on the Navajo Nation Reservation”
I didn’t know what to expect
Safe House was in a run-down condition
Its crumbling foundation, & in need of dire repair
As I entered the old wooden floorboards creaked
Ceiling had holes & water was dripping
Obviously it lacked insulation
The house smelled of stale air,
But as I got further into the house
It smelled of clean, crisp Pine-Sol,
Lingered in every corner of the safe house
As I entered the large family room
There were three elderly Navajo women
Who were the latest victims
I felt remorse and utter sadness
That seemed to overwhelm me
They dressed in traditional style
Pleated cotton skirts
Mismatched long sleeve blouses
Several strands of turquoise & silver jewelry
Women's hair were worn in a tradition bun called tseyaal
The lines of their faces were marks of honor
From many countless seasonal conditions
Their strong brown, delicate hands once smooth
Carried many generations of hard work
It was not hard to imagine
As if one of them could be my mother or my grandmother
Written by: Grandma G. Naomi Pine
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