Gabrielle Lawrence

[Walking Through Ferguson]

At first, the call of fire
in glass bottles shattering
into a thousand unheard cries
is like clouds
meeting in the sky
just before the pink falls.

The stoning of the brave
is everlasting
as fearful skin crawling
in the darkness of itself.

Searing in -
justice seething
like tear gas boiled
in a row of sugarcane.

Bent as a whistle
into a field of fallen
fibers pulsating for Beloved.