Brush Your Teeth Today

The bathroom floors soak underneath my skin. The sun just came out but why don't I feel its shine? Maybe it's the winter that is soaked beneath these thoughts, but how can the winter make me feel so brittle? As weak as a baby’s wrinkled skin or the anticipation of a trial verdict. It's as if half of my heart packed its bags and left with no words or card that says I love you. I go throughout my day as if my heart is full and not missing, as if the cold doesn't freeze my cheeks and the red beets don't grow. I let it go. I let it out. I wonder if you saw my toothbrush this morning, how it hung up next to yours- If you admired its pink and white, reminding you of the white book of poems that once surrounded us, or the room where my wrist has your name written, calling out for you in the depths of the cold and dark. The only light is held by the moon as she tells me it's okay, but how can it be that it's okay when everything reminds you of me? Like how a plant knows of water, how a killer knows of blood, or a puppy knows of love. I wondered if you looked at my toothbrush.