Leave Taking 1997. Poem by Terry Collett

It was a close thing:
Brian called out,
but hearing no answer
picked up his bag and left.

Una and Nuala
lie in bed frozen in fear.

Has he gone?
Una whispers

I think so,
Nuala says.

They lie still
and listen out.

I'm sure I heard
the front door close again,
Una says.

Nuala gets out
of Una's bed
and walks to the door;
anxiously opens it up,
and peers out.

She is naked,
yet unaware she walks
into the lounge,
then into her bedroom,
then the kitchen.

He has gone,
she muses,
and sneaks back
to Una's room.

He's gone,
Nuala says.

Best get dressed then,
Una says.

So they dress quickly,
then stand
and look at each other.

Can't do this again,
Nuala says,
it's getting to my nerves.

I'll go and get
another place,
Una says.

What do I tell Brian
when he comes
and finds you not here?
Nuala says.

Tell him I 've found
some place else,
Una says,
I'll pack now
and find somewhere.

No you can't go like this,
Nuala says.

I must or he'll fine us
one day together
and then your marriage
will be over,
Una says.

Nuala nods her head;
ok, I must go to work;
will you be gone
when I'm back?

Yes I'll let you know
where I am,
Una says.

Nuala kisses her,
and goes to her room,
and gets her coat and bag
and leaves.

Una hears the door go,
and tearfully packs
her bag,
makes the bed,
and leaves
closing the door
with a soft click.