my name
is in the chapter
your teacher told you to skip
in the interest of time
because it was a side-story
written in blood and sweat
on cloth pages cut
from the rags of prisoners and sharecroppers
which makes every word tend to smell
like the devil’s ass
so i wouldn’t want to read that shit either
but i don’t have a choice
because it is my name after all
but you
can keep pretending
that even if maybe somehow
you had a hand in the writing
it’s not worth reading
‘cause the ink wasn’t all that innocent anyway
so you’re not missing anything
except the Africa sized hole in your heart
so maybe it’s time i do you a solid
since you have such a hard time pronouncing them
and just tell you all our names
so today i proclaim
in the name of Kalief Browder, Oscar Grant III, Jordan Davis
and the tens of thousands just like them that never made the news
in the name of blood stained sidewalks
and midnight mourning
in the name of death-defying leaps across the pews
and spine-stiffening prostrations at dawn, dusk and noon
in the name of the 54th Massachusetts
and dying on your feet instead of living on your knees
today i say
that we are the people of the passage
and i name us
unbroken and unbowed
and until you stop denying this part of yourself
your name will be unknown and unspoken
now ask me how you spell it
