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“Her own daughter was born, like she had been, in either place or all places, so she could leave, leap into the sound she had always heard, a voice like water, like the gods weaving against sundown in a scarlet light.” — Joy Harjo
Her own daughter
was born, like she had been, in either place
or all places, so she could leave, leap
into the sound she had always heard,
a voice like water, like the gods weaving
against sundown in a scarlet light.