Forgiven

We argued and we let the argument sit
between us like furniture we worked around—
until one morning, for no particular reason,
one of us chose the laying-down.

I do not remember who went first.
It does not matter now who held the door.
What matters is the lightness in the room
after the old thing lived there no more.

Forgiveness is not surrender—
it is the choosing of your peace above the point.
The argument may have had a winner—
but the forgiven room was where we both could anoint.
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