By Boris Salvador Ingles
By Boris Salvador Ingles

By Chris Callard

Your toothbrush stares at me
every morning from the cup
next to the sink.
Dried out.
Parched, brittle.
It is blue and it’s yellow,
the colors of
the college
you attended,
which I thought was so endearing,
when I brought it home so eagerly.
You were thrilled, then, too.

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