My mother tells me, “You’ll go blind if you stare at the sun”
Behind me there’s a bumblebee in a jar caught by her son
I dreamed of Selene dancing across the sky, watching her lost lover
I found that more interesting than the human-making exploits of the sun
I arrived at my dorm at 3 a.m. and googled my symptoms in a fury
And at 5 a.m. I tried desperately to sleep, simultaneously waiting for the sun
I used to be obsessed with space, and dreamed of descending into Jupiter
Now I wonder how close greatness will be before I’m drowned by the sun
I want to flush my eyes out to get rid of my aching scorching pain
Instead I flush two Advils down my throat and avoid looking at the sun
Peonies, daisies, a rainbow of flowers lit up by the sun
Near the London Bridge, I take a photo of a sister, and a mother embracing her son
Nearly done, I submit my ELA test in the bright red plastic bin
My kid legs stumbling back to my desk, I think about riding my bike in the sun
My parents don’t want me to go to Lancaster, and my stomach lurches in anger
“You act like I’m an irresponsible little thing, but worry about your son.”
I don’t want to leave her for fear of losing her in a crowd
But when I leave the office, Emily only noticed the disappearance of the sun
Emily Rutz is a second year English major and minors in French, Technical Writing, and Creative Writing. ER1034711@wcupa.edu