The Door She Left

She left it open on purpose,

the screen door gaping like a hurt.

When I pointed out the cold seeping through

she just shrugged, like she knew

exactly what she was doing—

letting the warm air go rushing

out into the freeze.

I felt the draft

and understood the aftermath:

she'd stopped trying to hold it in,

stopped pretending warmth could win

against indifference. The open rectangle

of her leaving was angular,

deliberate, a kind of mercy

for both of us—

the cold she let seep

and the heat she let leak

away.