The Blue Brush

The grout is supposed to be white.

At 5:00 AM, the tile is cold enough

to make my heels ache.

I take the blue toothbrush—

the one I bought for this specifically—

and I dig into the corner.

The bristles go flat under my thumb.

They turn the color of wet ash.

Nobody sees the way I scrub

until the mildew gives up its grip.

It’s the only part of my day

that stays exactly where I put it.