911

& the voice said to call 911 
if it was a medical or mental health
emergency. i didn't know where it
was speaking from so i felt 
along the floor of my room for
microphones-- nothing. i needed
my glasses. i don't wear glasses. 
where the light switch used to be
there hung a telephone & i pressed 
the numbers-- each button turning
into a black beetle & scurrying away 
as the tones sounded. on the other
end god filed his nails & the sound
of it came through like static. 
no one on the line-- i said 
isn't there always someone there
when you call 911? 
& the voice came from everywhere
but the phone-- a deep hungry kind of
laugh. i think that we will god into
being & i lazy recently & he quit.
took a break & with his fabric scissors
he meandered down east main street 
snipping all the wires to me room.
i reach & there's another phone--
only with one is calling me.
hello hello this is 911
& the phone turns into a boa--
crawls down my throat & leaves
with my voice box which is also 
a pomegranate. no sound comes
out & the calls pour in from across
town-- begging for me to send someone.
when i finally set the phone on the
floor in desperate-- the receiver shook
& out came you-- with your soft
hair & your dial tone eyes-- crackling
in the blankness of the room.
what room? you take me in--
crossing my arms across my chest
before you lay me down, turning
the snake back into a wire where
it came from. before you go i 
ask if you could hold me & hang up
the phone so the electric murmur
in the background can go quiet.
you do & you ask me what the state of
my emergency is & i say 
nothing nothing nothing
talk of the temptations of 
mouths. i will call you 
again when you leave to know that
you arrived home alright to the
little box on the telephone pole. 
there you'll tuck your knees into
your chest to fix. the light switch
eats the telephones, as light
often has the habit of telling
us we're alright. it's not a good listener.
i take the rest of the night to 
braid cords-- your electric hair. 
sparks fly-- each heavy with
a word long ago spoken to god
before he drooped & became a boa
crawling on his belly between
light posts. i trust you. i do.
i suppose i would have to. 
the pillow rings when i put my
hear to it-- 
hello, 911?