On the Balcony

I wrote this poem during grad school in 2003, the days of American politicians mass murdering Iraqi civilians and white house poetry readings being cancelled due to the expected presence of anti-war poets, and read it in public at the end of the semester with the rest of my poetry class at USC, Los Angeles, instead:

On The Balcony

If I sent myself hurtling
into the night, would
the stars cease? Would
they even blink? I am
not discernible in the dark.
I run on auxiliary now, a
woman rolled over, shocked and
awed into submission, at
the mercy of an American flag.

But I am not allowed
to poem this protest: regret has been pushed out
onto this crumbling ledge, unable
to find a way back through their
rockets’ red glare.

So I send myself careening
into the stars, a whisper
or a scream,
extinguished.