A guest in my doorway
asking if it is safe
to come inside
and stay for a while.

I tell them it has never
felt safe in here, certainly
no safer than it is
out there. 

Are you sure, 
I ask? Are you sure?
Out there you can at least
run. In here

there’s nowhere to run
if what’s out there
decides to enter by force,
and I have proven 

to be terrible 
at homeland defense. 
Also, my judgment
is terrible. I’m not saying

more than that,
not saying
I do not trust
my guests, but…

The guest
raises a hand and
looks at me, hard,
as I am raising my own:

am I pushing them back?
Inviting them in?
Friendship, warning,
both? Each of us hesitates

while the world continues
to end. The question
remains: where is there ever
such safety as we desire

that flight or fight can leave our minds
for a second and we know
a raised hand will always be
a gesture of peace?