It had been a difficult transition, moving from one country to another; from a city’s familiar streets and longstanding friendships to the middle of nowhere in another country with a baby on the way. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. What I didn’t realise was that I’d be thirty odd miles from the nearest hospital with no means of transport. I’d already haemorrhaged after a fall in October and had to spend a couple of weeks in bed. Now, at the end of a long day, labour had started.
In the fields, foxes barked and a full moon shed a sheen of silver over stony fields and bare hedges. I was waiting for my friend’s husband to arrive in his car to drive me all the way to the Coombe Maternity Hospital in Dublin. But the car wouldn’t start. They phoned for an ambulance and my friend ran the three miles along foggy roads lit by the full moon, skidding on ice patches, followed by her faithful dog, slipping in and out of the moon shadows. She held my hand until the ambulance arrived, something for me to squeeze with each contraction. As I climbed into the ambulance, she whispered, ‘Mind the moon don’t get you.’
in the pregnant bloom
of a late autumn full moon
a new life was born
© Kim M. Russell, 2016
My response to dVerse poets Pub Haibun Monday: You say it’s your birthday?
This Monday, with the largest super moon in 69 years currently shining above us, Toni has prompted us to write a haibun with a memorable birthday, a memorable full moon or both, with a classic season haiku at the end of one or two tight paragraphs.