one for the road

a burglar breaks into the house
while
i'm asleep.
i hear him, or maybe it's a her
going through
the drawers in the kitchen.
i see the wave of a flash
light
swing in the hallway,
up the stairs.
i yell down.
hey. who's in here?
no one, she says. a woman's
voice, a familiar
voice.
i just left a few things,
and I've come to take them back.
i hear her open the knife
drawer, the rattle of knives,
then it closes.
i must be dreaming, i think,
my heart is beating
like a rabbit.
what are you looking,
for,
i yell down? how did you get
in here, i had the locks
changed.
it was unlocked, dope, she says
coming up the stairs.
i place an extra pillow over
my lower abdomen.
she comes in to the room,
a large knife in her hand.
what's with the knife,
i ask her.
oh, this, this is mine,
my ex husband gave it to
me thirty years ago so i'm
taking it. is that okay?
it's a ceremonial knife that
Saddam gave to him when
he went to Iraq on business,
before the war.
whew, i say. sitting up.
yeah sure take it. it looks pretty
ordinary to tell you the truth.
in fact i cut a pork roast
with it the other day.
yeah, it's a good knife, she
says.
so how are you? i ask her, what's up?
miss me? she comes over
and sits on her side of the bed,
or rather,
what used to be her side.
she lays down, the knife
still in her hand.
yeah, i do miss you sometimes,
not the fighting, the crying,
the chaos, but the sweet
moments. ah, yeah, i say.
few and far between. i could
never get enough of that, i say
emphasizing the word, that.
she looks at me and laughs.
i laugh too.yeah, we did have that
going for us, but it just wasn't
meant to be, we both say at
the same time. i look at
her, she looks at me.
one for the road, i ask.
sure she says, why not?
the knife falls to the floor.