PARTING AFTER A QUARREL
You looked at me with eyes grown bright with pain,
Like some trapped thing's. And then you moved your head
Slowly from side to side, as though the strain
Ached in your throat with anger and with dread.
And then you turned and left me, and I stood
With a queer sense of deadness over me,
And only wondered dully that you could
Fasten your trench-coat up so carefully.
Till you were gone. Then all the air was quick
With my last words, that seemed to leap and quiver.
And in my heart I heard the little click
Of a door that closes -- quietly, forever.
Eunice Tietjens
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