The upside down moon

On the dusky terrarce, my arms feel the weight of water, which my husband would normally bear, sloshing in the green can. The moon is half a luminous melon, its other half missing, the way mine has been. In a few hours I will drive to the airport to bring him back. I think of my mother and sister, just leaving another airport, flying in a straight line south to Africa, where the moon, half or full, will be upside down.