Friday Night

A Friday night
at home, my head
sore and full,
my heart empty,
collapsing
on its hollow core.

As the known world
is bathed anew
in harsh light
and the shadows
become deeper,

I look at the walls
around me.  Tonight
they are cocoon, tomorrow
they may be prison or
casket  —

or barricade. If so I may
become a warrior tomorrow

so I’ll take tonight for peace
and sleep well, even if I must keep 
one eye open; hold love close
in case thieves come for it in the night

as they’ve always come in the past,
a past many of us have grown too soft
to remember.

We are remembering it now,
have taken night after night
to do so, to get ready, to toughen
up — tonight, though,

I at least will be
at peace before
looming war.

I can’t refuse this heart
this moment of calm tonight

as I cannot say
when or whether
I will find one
again.