a poem by Sarah Chafin
might as well call me Octavia,
I’m your eighth child after all
(as far as I know).
I hope I was your last,
that you didn’t leave behind
an even longer trail of brokenness
and children wondering if evil seeps
into their blood even when the man
who fathered them is locked away.
I hope you didn’t leave more women
in tears, raising offspring they love
who wear the eyes of the man they hate.
You can follow Sara Chafin here:insta: @Sarechafin
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