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Issue 74
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Editor's Note
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POETRY
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FICTION
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OTHER
Issue > Poetry
I've Been Born a Thousand Nights
I've been born a thousand nights under the saguaros,
every night, my mother dies,
her eyes become too black & cold,
her thighs turn stiff like wooden boards,
the night claims her body,
as I crawl away into the vastness,
I'm still attached to my umbilical cord,
I smell the blood spilled over the sand,
I've been born a thousand nights thirsty & tired,
almost blind, with a cut tongue,
yet I manage to cry, "my mother
is dead under the saguaros;"