m e l    b o s w o r t h

The Soft Bend


For the rest of the night we didn't speak and every time it looked like we'd be close to each other we took a step back, pushed another warm body forward.

I was in bed by midnight, listening to my neighbors fight then fuck then fight fuck. It was all very amusing. Whenever I moved my feet my cat tried to rip at my toes through the blankets.

In the morning we walked to breakfast. We turned to cut through an alley and our faces filled with a woman giving birth. She was dressed in rags and laying flat on her back inside a knocked over box. It was the dead of summer and everything was wet and this woman was wet and the baby pushing out of her dark vagina was bloody and wet.

Farther up the alley a man pulled a razor blade down the arm of a young boy. He pulled the razor blade down to the soft bend of the boy's arm then stopped. He looked at you then me then raised his eyebrows.

Keep going? he said.

Our jaws locked and our bodies melted together in awful yes.

Inside the café we found our voices stitched into white aprons.

You said: More coffee.

I said: I want to live inside your heart.



MEL BOSWORTH is the author of the novel FREIGHT. Visit him at melbosworth.com

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