by Anna Hill

Created on: October 24, 2008

Delivery

The dribble of the shower

no longer a comfort-

as if it ever was.

How can he sleep

when I'm suffering like this?

Dim light of the energy efficient bulb

intermittently interrupted by moths

as I wait on the bottom step of the deck.

Crickets' wings grate-

on each other and on me.

How can he not be ready to go?

Like the contractions,

shadows grow while they creep up from behind

then pass and shrink down to nothing-

the consequences of fleeting affairs

with tall and dark

yet light emitting

figures.

Pounding pressure of moving air

the only relief I can find

from the rap song he tuned into and turned up.

How can he find every bump,

every pothole,

every pebble?

An elongated oh

as another contraction tries to wring out the new life.

We welcome the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital

though my eyes are closed and shielded with hands.

I am delivered.

Learn more about this author, Anna Hill.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.