Fact of my life

My job was once threatened if I published a poem.
I lived in another place 
but in America and knew my rights. 
I let the poem wait. Oh, I read it aloud once
and silence swelled in the room like fog; 
then someone said, read it again. 

My job was once threatened if I published a poem,
a fact of my life I forgot, 
one my children don’t know. 
A journalist, sworn to truth, nothing but, 
I wrote it at city desk 
unassigned to the story. 

My job was once threatened if I published a poem
for a public figure, no libel there, 
nothing false or obscene, only love 
and anger, dignity and crumbs. 
The second time I read it, silence rose 
and his relative, who questioned me later. 

After I left my job I published the poem, 
then left the place and forgot 
the threat. Remembering, I ponder 
the knots lodged under my shoulder blades,
asking if one truly can leave a place 
where poems hold such power.