Warm Room, Unclenched

I unclench, and the room warms.
I was clutching ghosts, strict as prayers.
I kept tally of fear with cracked nails.
Cigarettes, skipped meals, love like a locked jaw.

Marcus taught me hunger outlives soft apologies.
He left, and kept leaving in smaller ways.
I stayed, guarding the empties he left.
My name sounded foreign in my own mouth.
I drank ash and called it devotion.

Tonight the mug is warm, and I sip.
I blocked his number an hour ago.
Air threads my throat without permission, almost tender.
Memory won't die: the scorch on the sill.
Forgiveness is a locksmith working on bone.
I forgive my mouth for counting exits.
I forgive my hands for staging alarms.
Tomorrow is a spare bulb that almost fits.
Heat returns, patient as a chair kept warm.