Mariah Slone

Good Morning

In the night,
I found a message.
A wish of yours,
To see the sunrise
On Sunday morning.

I have the same wish, so
I wake up too early,
And tiptoe downstairs,
To tell her
I’m going for a walk.

In the cellar, a bicycle is hidden
Behind vases, costumes, chairs
I lift its rusted body and struggle
To exit silently
Into the dim daylight.

Cold moisture collects
On my bare knuckles.
My legs defy tight, blue jeans
And speed through
The early morning chill.

A loose chain
Slaps a rhythm on my bicycle.
I have to see you
Before the sky gets light

A steep hill replaces flat sidewalk,
Pedaling up, up, up…
In plain view,
At the top of the hill,
Is your sliding glass door.

I throw my bike into the woods
And press my nose to your door,
Making a butterfly on glass
With each exhale.

Good morning


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.