Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Mary, a daughter book-ended by greats.
The strength of Vindication in your blood
could not still Life's oppressive hand
on a woman's breast.
Mary, words carried your spirit.
You wormed your way through pages
while Horror held you up.
Mary, like the immortal doctor,
you stitched together a bastard creation
that carried his name.
Mary, common Mary, mother, goddess, saint.
Your sins penanced by each death endured
and redeemed by your son, the last word.
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