The air was clear and heavy

In August, in Missouri, that day

The clear was clouded with gunsmoke

The people began to speak

They began to mumble your name

I have never felt your felt your pain

but I’ve seen it

And I have never known the hurt of being called such a name

but I’ve heard it

And I have never felt my shirt and flesh and soul rip simultaneously

But I have read in the papers that you know the feeling well

And I have never been the one who has been able to bring on change

But by now I know your name.

And it is in the folds of irony where death brings on fame

When a pool of blood from six holes

Is the only way to make change

But we are the batteries of the rebellion

we power the flashlight’s flame

Those who face battery

from those with badges

But each one knows your name.

Look down, the barrel in your face is now no surprise.

Your spirit, your eyes

Just another reason to antagonize.

And it is passion, not gas that puts the tears in their eyes

Connected to arms that only have the strength for a picket sign

Anything more, a threat.

Anything less, forgotten.

Day serves as only the gray area between battles

The skies have not been blue for thirty-six days

Civility is gone with a gunshot

Citizen has no meaning when the flag faces you

and the trigger faces you

with the army of bullets that should say other names

We now know what it’s like

How quickly they turn

When it is liberty

Against those with a uniform

and eyes

and hands

But no face

and no name.

Sometimes the quell comes naturally

We weren’t on the news today

Silence mistaken for submissiveness,

The opposite met with hate

But a yell this loud never quite fades

The air flows stagnant with blood and chemical fog

It is silent in Missouri today.

But the streets will never not be stained

because by God, they know your name.