Elise O’Reilly

Rearranged

My living room was always wrong you see. Every month to my husband’s dismay, I moved all the furniture tirelessly. Pacing, I’d imagine a better way.

Thinking this time, I would get it perfect. But everything we owned was not mine. Hand-me-downs and things I didn’t select. I wasn’t at home with what was assigned.

All this time I swallowed the truth at hand: Husband was malicious, life felt so grim. Of course my home felt like a stranger’s land. No rearrangement could solve that problem.

I was restless and deep down, knew the source But moving chairs was simpler than divorce.

Elise O’Reilly

Hard to Swallow

The food won’t go down. It turns to poison in my mouth. Unsafe intrusion. Heart beating too fast.

I spit into the trash. Forcing up anything that started to enter my esophagus. I drink a Diet Coke instead.

I get back into bed I touch my hip bones and my ribs, A meditation. Safe again. My hunger still intact.

Elise O’Reilly