Poem by Beatriz Seelaender
dear [redacted], you asked me why i have moved out here to the moon, not the sun
the Sun, omnipotent ball of fire, what does he have to do with us?
he’s the god whose every whim we depend on, even if he’s got no clue of our existence
he squints as he lays his eyes upon us, he sees that we squint at him as well
it’s not his fault he’s too powerful to be looked at directly, like true sublimity
what illuminates can also be blinding.
so give me night vision, let me be the Moon’s Knight like the Wolf
the moon whose waning moods orient and revert the regiment and tides
whose world is geocentric, our only admirer, the celestial homebody sticking by us even when we’ve stepped all over her
when we take advantage of her blind eye, so benevolent not to tattle, so forgiving
she’s in the business of keeping secrets in her craters
her help is requested by earthlings who wish to bury their own.
the moon previews her understudy performance in the matinee this afternoon
how is it that we can look at her for free? it’s how apologetically unphotogenic she is
in pictures, she’s as unreachable as the sun. every night she travels the world from afar,
no spot forgotten. do I bathe in the shadow of the moon’s dark side?
the moonscreen being available, the dogs playing favourites with me, the view being not of this earth, the cheese being homegrown, the craters cozy and quiet.
from here i can’t hear the rampage, only the coven covering ritual songs.
there’s this flower that grows on the moon, like a sunflower courting its stone
instead of oxygen it feeds on ephedrine, which is why all who have come close to it have become somnolent and dropped off the face of the moon
because the moonflower is not powered by sunshine
it is believed that it will survive when the yellow sun flickers
all the best (whatever that means for you),
Earth, The O(r)bit Of
Moon, The Dark Side Of – 336