and if we want to become better,

learned men and women,

we must learn

to speak

this mother tongue,

and when a boy responded,

I do not know about your mother, sir,

but my maame speaks Twi

the entire class erupted

in laughter,

including the boy,

until Mr. Phillip’s cane

slashed his buttocks

so hard

he was unable to sit

for three days

and it left

a long, thin gruesome bruise

that swelled

across his buttocks,

making it look

like he was smiling

from behind.

LIGHT SENTENCE

The punishment

for my crime,

for answering

in my own Twi

instead of talking

in the stale, foreign language

that Mr. Goodluck Phillip

makes us speak

in school,

is to stay

after school

so that he can teach me

to read

from The Dramatic Works

of William Shakespeare,

which I enjoy—though

I cannot let him know—but

which I can barely focus on

because I want to be in the river

and my forearm is throbbing

and I cannot stop thinking

about the end of the day

when Ama came up to me

and whispered,

But you knew the correct answer, Kofi,

so do not feel so bad,

and her breath smelled

like honey

and pine

and possibility.

AMA

I have known her

since we were

giggling babies

swathed in cloth

on our maames’ backs

while they sold yams

and cassava

at the market.

We played together,

learned together,

swam together,

even dreamed together

about our futures

until hers was nearly ruined

when her parents died,

leaving her homeless

and alone.

So, now I mainly get

to see her in school,

since she spends

the rest of her time

cleaning

and being the house girl

for her uncle’s family

in exchange for food

and a roof.

AFTER SCHOOL

When we finish reading together,

Mr. Phillip makes me repeat

different English words,

praises my efforts, then says

that if I want to be

a young man of intellect

I should pay attention

to where my tongue lies

when I roll my Rs,

and even though

I hate the taste

of his alien words

on my tongue

I just nod

and say,

Thank you for

the instruction, sir.

WAITING FOR ME

outside

is Ebo,

my best mate,

leading a band

of youngsters

in search

of the few

gold specks

still swimming

in the streets

and ditches

after last night’s

heavy rainfall.

TAKEN

Ama walks

toward me,

carrying a large water pot

on her head,

a bundle of timber

in her arms,

and her baby cousin

draped across

her back.

It will not hurt long if you use this, she says,

placing the timber

on the ground and

taking my arm

in her hand.

She rubs my bruise

with a large, fuzzy, green leaf

and a flash of warmth

rushes through me

like a wave.

I do not feel

my eyes closing, but

I can feel every hair

on my body

jump at the sun.

Is that better, Kofi?

Yes. It. Is.