I Speak Your Names

State of Double Consciousness Jessie Mae – Installment One

I Speak Your Names

With tears in my eyes, I now mourn another death at the hands of the police. And from that place of grief within me, I have composed a poem. But then, I have to take a break. Because I am so tired of crying.

I struggle now just to

lay my head on the pillow.

I cannot sleep.

I carry their names in my mouth

stretching my cheeks to bulging

like a pile of rocks in my mouth.

Afraid that if I open my mouth

their names will spill out like blood

and be lost forever. Every trace

of their blood washed away

as if though I’ve been complicit in

helping to deny their existence.

The blood is sacred and will

water the souls of those of us left

behind as we say their names.

Sandra. Eric. Tamir. Alton. Freddy.

Philando. John. Akai. Oscar. Aiyana. Amadou.

My soul is bloated with memories

the reality that you existed because

I mourned your passing. Even today

I mourn for you. The tears continue

to fall and I hold your names

in my mouth trying to hold onto you, impossibly,

while releasing you to that vague “better place.”

It’s a struggle to forget a past

that’s being played out again, on repeat.

These public lynchings in the street.

And I hold your names in my mouth

the muscles in my face stretched taut

with the effort. I want to speak.

I want to speak.

But if I allow your names to rain

from my lips like the spilling of blood

will “they” see it as a sign of disrespect,

a felonious reaching for a history

that I’m supposed to deny its existence.

I dare to speak your names

to breathe life into your existence

knowing that something as simple as

identifying, providing identification of your existence

is enough to justify your blood

pooling in the streets And because

of that I dare to speak your names.