February Eleventh

Sylvia Plath killed herself,

And everything is poetry.

Published by:

W. A. Schwartz

I the mother of two complex young women and a beautiful teenage boy, I'm a doctor, a wife, a writer, a good gardener, a terrible cook, a hopeless romantic, a lazy voter, an impatient driver, a conscientious objector, a good daughter, a reasonable sister, a really bad patient, the worst kind of singer, an excellent sewer and the best damn dreamer you ever met.

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