An Old Wooden Toothbrush

The bristles of the toothbrush in her hand
Were worn and broken; the veneer was chipped-
Exposing gently rotting wood beneath.
Each brush sent a shiver down the old girl’s spine,
It whispered: “Time to let me go.”
“It’s time! It’s time!”

The tepid water coursed the many changing channels in her hands.
And slewed across cracked varnish on her nails.
The skin was loose, where once warm hands she held:
Parents, lovers, children
Hands long grown and stale.
A voice within her welled
“It’s time! It’s time”

The water laughed, chattering of an untouched Narnia of memories
Beyond this brittle wardrobe, door locked, key lost.
Beyond friends called; friends long gone.
She listened hard:
Running with the water;
Rattling down drainpipes,
She heard them call:
“It’s time! It’s time!”

A warm tear fell soft upon her cheek.
The ghostly grace of good times past
Reflected in her mirror:
Lipstick gaudy on once plump lips.
How many mouths those dying lips had kissed?
How many now could tell the tale?
They whispered:
“It’s time! It’s time!”

Yet- the glint,
The shining eye,
Brightened by that tear- and beyond,
so sweetly sang her soul:
‘There is Time! There is Time!”



About Maitiu

I am a collection of aspects. A father, a husband, an uncle, a son, a teacher, an aspiring writer, an amateur photographer, a poor guitar player, a slightly better singer... Online however I am a 365er looking to find out what people make of my personal poetic musings and my photographs. Drop a penny in an old man's hat and let me know what you think... (Leave a comment!)
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