She was sick of walking into doors
And tripping over the cat
That the kids had wanted for years.
She was sick of trying to remember
And trying not to forget
What to say, and what not to say.
She was sick of worrying about what to cook
And what she should wear,
And knowing she should never quite get it right.
She was sick of being awake when she wanted to sleep
Scared of his dreams
And her owns dark dreams
Sick of crying and worrying about dying,
Because he said he would kill her
One of these fine days,
and she believed him.
Then one day they went.
Just up and left
And she didn’t die,
And she knew what to wear
And she started to see the doors,
And the cat never got in her way,
And the kids started to laugh again.

 

Mitzie O’Reilly (1996)