by Stella Gleitsman

We think we are big men

But the only big man is the sun

The sun is the biggest crone in the galaxy
And we owe her our life

She is stretched and blistered skin on the back of an aged woman

She is the witch in the nursery rhyme

I see her lying on the corner every day, I keep my eyes forward and up

The sun is everything that makes your head ache and sway,
It is every hateful thing women have done to themselves,
Every descent into madness from heatstroke

Water that’s so hot it’s icy
Love that looks so much like hate it grows back as love
When it’s so hot, your tears melt your cheeks away
When it’s so hot, your skeleton shivers,
When it’s so on fire that it’s home again,

It’s mother’s arms again,
dressed in blood again.

Stella Gleitsman grew up in the Lower East Side of Manhattan and is a Writing and Literature major in her freshman year at LaGuardia. She has been writing poetry ever since she was 13 years old, often about mental health, feminism, Jewish identity, and spirituality. She views poetry as a place of healing, catharsis– a safe place to speak freely–and hopes that her poetry can connect with others and touch their lives in some way. You can find her on Instagram @stell__uh, and as well as her poetry account, at the handle @stellaisapoet.

Image credit: “Sun,” Nigel Howe. Flickr CC BY-NC 2.0.