the honey moon is over

why do you have to drag

the police into this, she says.
holding a butcher

knife in the air
as I dial

911. her eyes are black
and hollow.

step back from the phone,
she says

in a guttural voice, one i'm
not familiar with.

i'm using the wall
phone

not unlike the one my mother
had hanging
on the wall

in 1964.

hang up she says, moving closer.
I said,

hang up, or else.

I see the glimmering silver
point of the sharp knife
so

I put the phone back into
its cradel
and say.
okay, okay. calm down.

maybe you need a sandwich
or something.

I get it now.
the honey moon is over.