Come Morning Catherine Vitt

COME MORNING

Catherine Vitt

And things’ll be okay come morning, but right now it’s all a little too harsh.

Fall’s leftover leaves swirl on by, passing me and my friend, the dead prairie, who smiles the old weary smile, remembering his laugh— full of honey bees and itchy yellow flow’rs.

I’m through a quiet hallway, and mom’s sayin that you can see the dust on the floorboards if you tilt your head just right and saying your name full just isn’t quite mine anymore.

Do you think my smile is young, Oh sweet strong friend? Or do the wheels of the junker trucks that pass us by remind you that we’ve been driving together a long time?

I’m on my bike, the rusty blue that you know so well And she says to slow down when the rain rolls around because you’ve gotta feel its sweetness.

The man tomorrow said beer’s sweet Guess he never had the five-cent lolly on the turning stand in the corner store. Who knows what’s more for him?

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This morning, I heard you playing your cheap harmonica out my window. That streetlight’s flickering, wincing cause it’s all just a little too harsh. harsh-sweet-quiet-old, passing us by.

And come morning the filament’ll snap in tomorrow’s sun, bouncing off spokes of squeaky blue bike wheels, flying past my friend’s returned honey bees.

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