Tomorrow Will Be Better
A forecast issued by everyone except the weather
The candidate said it first,
under lights white enough
to bleach a promise.
Behind him, flags stood at attention.
Before him, people held grocery receipts
like small subpoenas.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
It meant: not today,
and please stop asking
what happened to yesterday.
The company said it next
in an email titled MOVING FORWARD.
The machine had learned everyone’s job
except how to look them in the eye.
Benefits ended Friday.
The stock rose by lunch.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
It meant: better has a corner office
and does not know your children’s names.
The landlord slid it under the door
beside another increase.
The bank said the house was worth more,
which surprised the family
who could no longer afford to live in it.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
It meant: someday you may inherit
the debt that inherited you.
On the news,
water climbed the stairs,
fire crossed county lines,
and smoke turned noon
the color of an old bruise.
A sponsor offered same-day delivery.
An app reminded us to breathe.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
It meant: after this commercial,
there will be another commercial.
Then a mother said it
to a child who could not sleep.
No podium.
No logo.
No music swelling on cue.
She said it with one hand
resting over the small drum of his heart,
and the other holding back
everything she knew.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
It meant: I have no evidence,
but I will not hand you despair.
By morning,
a teacher had stocked the pantry.
A neighbor opened his basement
when the heat would not break.
A nurse stayed past the end of her name tag.
Workers signed their names together.
Strangers lifted wet furniture
from a flooded home.
Someone charged six phones from a car
and never asked how anybody voted.
No headline came.
No market moved.
But the sentence moved among them,
losing its polish,
gaining weight.
Now it meant:
we have stopped waiting for tomorrow
to arrive with instructions.
We have rolled up our sleeves.
We have brought water.
We have learned one another’s names.
Not because they promised.
Because we did.
“Tomorrow will be better.”
About the Creator
Jason Hair-Wynn
Theatre artist, director, choreographer, and arts leader writing on accountability, equity, and culture in the performing arts, with a deep belief in storytelling, truth, and spaces rooted in care. And some travel content along the way
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