I wrote this in 2016 when my mother died. I have come to realize that all my endeavors are neither grand nor failures, just in the middle. Here is where my worst anxiety and depression began. I look back and see I have progressed, emotionally. Alas, my poetic prowess is still C- at best. I am adrift My anchor gone; I am unable to captain alone… I steer the best course I know But still… I strike other ships passing, doing damage Having to stop Having to repair, regroup How can I avoid running aground? Striking the rocks Sinking this ship… completely...