My Anxiety Has Gotten Out Of Control. No, I Can’t Admit That It’s Out Of Control. I Have My Hand

Autumn isn’t the same without you.

(RMS, 8-21-2018.)

One hundred and thirteen years.

One hundred and eleven years.

We know you were terrified, brave, horrified, strong, resilient, panicked, and courageous, and we honor you this night of the year. Death is not failure. Your lives were you and you remain wonderful, somewhere out here in our atomic jigsaw of existence. I’m so sorry you experienced such horrors.

Deepest of peaceful rest to you.

One had a day; one had a year.

(RMS, September 2021.)

The girl is escaping the house, delightedly.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“You may’ve bought the gun,

But I made my own powder.”

(RMS, 8-8-21.)

Autumn reclaimed.

(RMS, 11-3-21.)

Writing Room, Fall of 2018.

Banishment.

(RMS, 6-8-22.)