IV

That night I had Sharon Olds poem “Sex without Love” in my head

Although I couldn’t think of anyway with words

To express myself as cleanly as Olds

I felt there was something comforting

About looking down at my naked belly

As I slipped into the bath

And imagining a baby in there

That has come from love.

Perhaps I thought,

I can only express myself physically

When it comes to certain feelings

Words aren’t enough for me

Unlike these Writers at the Festival.

Will sat opposite me

Tiny islands of bubbles formed

In the hot water between us

I took a swig of champagne from the skinny glass

On the edge of the tub

It was cheap

I smiled at him

He didn’t smile back

He was feeling bad.

A loud knock

At the hotel room door

We were silent

I didn’t look at Will

It came again

Will hauled himself up

Dried himself quickly

Rapped a towel around his waist

I prayed to God that would not be the last time I saw those hips

“Coming”

Will shut the bathroom door

Muffled voices slipped under it

They were deep and persistent

I stood up, water trickled down my pale body

Tiny translucent snakes

Will opened the door just enough so that his face showed between

The cracks

“It’s the Police.”