Dear Woman in the Moon,

I'm writing to request a favor. Lately, I've noticed that my world is turned upside-down. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but I vaguely remember something about it all starting when someone told me, "goodbye." I figured since you never hide your face, since every night you look down so serenely on the world, since you always look so regal, as if you were sitting on a throne, not trapped into a sphere, since you follow me everywhere, you might be able to help. The universe has got nothing on you, the way I see it, and the sun may think he's something real special because he gives you your glow, but what he doesn't realize is that he would be helplessly exhausted without you to give him patient twelve-hour breaks. He's just so arrogant and overly zealous that he would burn himself out in a single orbit without you to pace him.

So, please, with the authority that you have, drop into the horizon and flip the world, so the ground is the sky and the sky is the ground. You know if you did it, the rest would be forced to follow. So please, right the wrongs and invert the world. All would be as it should be then. Left would be right. Wrong would be right. The shadows I'm reduced to would really be my body. Night would be day, so it would not be a signal of distress that I stay awake all night. The heavens would be as shallow as the sea is now deep, so maybe if I tried, I could reach for eternity. And he would love me.

Please consider my request, and reflect on the possibility of letting light illuminate your dark side just this once.

Sruoy,

Detrevni Traeh A


A meditation inspired by Elizabeth Bishop's poem, "Insomnia."