Poet Ifrah Hussein responds to two weeks of police violence with verse

this here is where endurance and revolutionary agony come to a middle ground 

this insurgency writes a poem in anger and the people call it a riot 

this poem emerges from the voice a fatigued black woman 

this poem is tired of being. 

this poem will not conclude. 

this poem will remind you of transgression. 

black lives only matter when black lives speak 

the torment of blackness is only recognized 

when blackness tells you how tired it is of being tormented 

black lives will decimate the injustice, even if you censor our clamour 

black lives will remind you of George Floyd 

of Tamir Rice, of Regis Korchinski-Paquet, of Mike Brown 

of Trayvon Martin, of Andrew Loku, of Sandra Bland, 

of Abdirahman Abdi, of Philando Castile — 

of my kin. All of my kin. 

You can call this the revolution that came searching for us instead 

call it three thousand poems trying to make metaphors out of the taking of black breath

call it guerrilla 

call it the pushback 

call it the liberation 

call it a voice, flustered 

call it a breath that loses its sequence, 

because bluecoats couldn't hold onto anything more reasonable 

call it my sanity — trying to make way for things greater than just trying to survive 

call this a million roses thrown into the air and all of them descending individually onto the graves of black bodies 

in conflict, there is no halting until justice takes us by the hand 

and tells us we have a seat somewhere in a system we don't have to break 

because legislation only changes after our patience becomes our rage 

call this the televising of revolution 

call this a black woman's voice 

call this a black woman's indignation 

call this a cry for due process 

call this a black woman's sorrow 

call this a black woman's prayer 

when the protests come to a halt 

and the signs gradually descend to an afterthought 

this is to remind you that we still cannot breathe 

the justice system stands as a reminder to abide 

but cannot remind itself 

that it does not have the capacity to hold everything 

our mothers ask God for both mercy and protection 

and when the night falls, they give thanks for being 

this poem here, does not ask for mercy 

it does not seek to replace our mothers broken 

in this poem, I do not ask for breath 

in this poem, I ask why I did not have it to begin with