Mark’s Toothbrush

When she opened the door
and walked through
their retreat cabin
it was all too much
His slippers by the bed
His Cubs hat on the dresser
His bike in the laundry room
Too much to try to preserve
Too much to sort out
All spread throughout
their haven in the hills

She walked into the bathroom
and saw his toothbrush
No one will want that, she thought
and threw it away
And when it hit
the bottom of the can
her heart broke
for the thousandth time

She left after that
leaving it all
for another day
A day that she
could properly
prepare for
One that would
not blindside her
like this one had

And on the way out
as she drove in the hills
she imagined the
wind blowing through
Mark’s freed soul
as he biked
in the ever after
where it’s all downhill
and brakes are optional

Jason Fisk is a husband to one, a father to three, and a teacher to many. He lives and writes in the suburbs of Chicago. His employment before becoming a teacher includes working in a psychiatric unit, laboring in a cabinet factory, and mixing cement for a bricklayer. He was born in Ohio, raised in Minnesota, and has spent the last 25 years in the Chicago area. www.jasonfisk.com