A Revised History of the Balcony
Angela Costi
in the few days between wars balconies
are multitudes of mid-air terrariums
many swap plants for black-cloaked grills
burn meat sear skin on lounge chairs
yawns languish to snoozes
in the expanding war zone
they reach out
as you would to greet a flying bird
some cling to whatever seems predictable
the building mountains horizon
these years of guided bombings find them
lonely as that one cloud unable to drift
as vulnerable as a man pegging pillowcases
a woman having her morning coffee
from our virtual windows she shared
her balcony’s view
adjusted her webcam not to show her face
not once only her long legs pacing
she is wearing white as she leans into the air
lifting her arms off the rail for thirteen seconds
to whisk away an image of a toy-like drone
the flash of the hit as we watch
the wind of kamikaze comes first
picks on anything that juts out
no playing on the balcony she says
shooing her children inside
before the charred footpaths
the trees broken into trenches
she had neighbours
they threw greetings into the air
the fireworks are not beautiful
from her balcony
vybukh vybukh vybukh
she says as we search for the word
we woke to no voice no legs
we tried again and again to connect
we read in the newspaper
a woman went out onto her balcony
note: vybukh in Ukrainian means blast, explosion, bang
ANGELA COSTI is a poet with a background in social justice and community arts. Her most recent book is An Embroidery of Old Maps and New (Spinifex, 2021, winner of Poetry Prize in English, Greek Australian Cultural League 2022), and recent chapbook, Adversarial Practice, Cordite Poetry Review, May 2024.
