This man, right here He is my brother in his weather faced and sky blue coveralls discolored by clouds and dirt. My brother with the sun kissed head, who sweats to grow the corn as he sweats the coming dry season. A brother who feeds animal on animal and feeds the in-between. The brother who breathes the color red from the gold filled barn to the American flag. The very brother who just lay his mare to rest, and whos' will, will make him rise tomorrow as surely as the rooster and the sun. He is your brother. This woman, right here she is my sister. The one who sits cross legged sorting beads and stringing necklasses on the reservation at the four corners monument. My sister who threads the needle and pushes the sewing machine pedal to make clothes for the world. My sister who rocks in her chair, steadily patching, stitching, and knitting the love-thickened sweaters for the winters ahead. She is your sister. And this man right here, He is my father who drives the nails that pin walls to foundations, lays planking for floors, and pitches roofs for shelter and shade. My ten-penny father who belts up, boots up, and rolls up his sleeves to hammer away at the injustices of mankind until his blows match the rythm of the human heart. The father who saws through his days as if they were infinite. He is your father. And this woman here, She is my mother whose soil nourishes my feet. My mother who bathes me in all of her blue-green eyes. Who bubbles through her core-warmth, and lets me nestle in her limbs as she sways away droning pain. A mother whos' gravity keeps all children near and whos' perfumed breath blows kisses across all of them. Mother, who gives death to life, and life to death. She is your mother.