Well, speak lower, lest they hear us, he whispers

as we duck

behind a tree.

HIDDEN

The tree we climb

stands in perfect view

of the stream

where the girls

dip their feet

and play

before filling

their pots

with water

and carrying them

atop their heads,

each with one hand

tightly holding it

in place.

Ama removes

her hand from the rim

to scratch her arm

or slap a mosquito

or something,

does not put it back

and still moves

across the ground

like a dancer,

never spilling

even a drop,

her head still

as the water

it holds.

When they get beneath

our tree, she stops,

and the other girls do too.

You can come down now, she says,

placing her pot on the ground,

and looking up

straight at me.

CONVERSATION

Ei! How did you know we were up here? Ebo says.

We have known you were following us since we left school.

I told you to be quieter, he says, shaking his head at me.

We were just, uh, keeping an eye out, you know.

So, you are our protectors, she says, smiling.

…

…

Well, now that this is settled, can we go for a swim? We must practice.

So, it is a fact you will race Kofi, ei? she asks me, ignoring Ebo.

Yes, I will.

And he will lose… if we are not prepared, Ebo hollers, heading down to the river.

What is your reason for this challenge, Kofi?

I, uh, I, I just want to show him that he is not the best at everything.

The lion’s power lies in our fear of him.

I am not afraid of him. He is a bully. And he thinks he is bigger and better. I will show him!

…

…

How is your brother?

I worry he may never forgive himself, that he will go mad with guilt, you know.

Everyone knows it was an accident.

I do not know if that matters so much to Kwasi. I hear him sobbing in his sleep, and the few moments he is awake, he just stares, silently, with a dazed look.

…

…

My family prays with yours.

Thank you.

I should get home before the water is needed.

How do you keep it balanced?

Once you carry your own water you will know the value of every drop.

…

…

I will see you at school.

I believe Ebo.

What do you mean?

You will win. Your cousin does not stand a chance, Kofi Offin, she says, smiling, walking away.

LOOK WHAT I CAUGHT

Knee-deep

in the stream,

Ebo tosses

a long-bodied fish

that is still breathing,

even after it lands

on the bank

at my feet.

IT WALKS, he hollers

as we watch it

nearly stand up,

flapping

back and forth.

I pick it up,

toss it back

way over his head,

let the river

swallow it,

watch it flex

and whirl

away.

Then I do the same.

THE FLOW

YOU WILL NEVER BEAT HIM

MOVING AS SLOW