sporting powdered red hair

and wearing iron bracelets

with cutting edges,

enters the courtyard

and gallops sprightly

toward my brother

like a monsoon.

THE FIGHT

Kwasi lunges

at full speed

launching the sole of his foot

right into the black boulder

that is Bonsu’s rib

but the giant does not even flinch

just stands there

annoyed

like a mosquito

just buzzed

in his ear.

GET UP

Kwasi is sluggish

after falling,

the back of his head slamming first

into the hard, wet ground.

As the giant stands over him

watching

I feel a kind of silent dread

of what will come next.

Bonsu stomps him

in the gut

then lifts him

off the ground

with one arm

wrapped around

his neck,

carrying

my listless brother

through the courtyard

for all to gaze

and gape upon.

I thrust myself

toward them with all my might

but the thick twine that ties

me to the other boys

traps me in my place,

and its tug knocks me

to the mud.

The one with the fish

on his face

helps me up

as Bonsu lumbers

toward the King,

who seems pleased

that my brother is dangling

like a hooked snapper.

Tonight, the other world will host

a new visitor, the King shouts.

Still clenching his neck,

Bonsu lets him down,

lets his feet touch earth.

The drum beats,

Owu closes his eyes,

tells me to do the same,

but I cannot.

I will not abandon Kwasi

so, when the drum stops

and I see the giant

snap my brother’s neck

like a twig,

all hope dies

and the darkness

swims

all around me.

IN THIS DREAM

Mr. Phillip, sitting

on the big rock,

reads Shakespeare to me

while I race Ebo

in the water.

Then Ebo is gone,

and I have swum too far,

way past

where the sun dips

beneath the mighty.

I picture Maame and Papa,

and Nana Mosi,

and Ama watching

from the shore, waving me back,

but I am trapped,

and each time I open my mouth

to scream HELP,

a stabbing pain

shoots through it.

I cannot speak.

I cannot move.

I need help.

What is happening to me?

Who can explain to me now, here,

why I am so far away

from everything familiar?

There is nothing more confining,

I hear Mr. Phillip read,

than the prison

we do not know

we are in.

And then I wake up

leaving everything behind

in the dream

except the pain

and the dread

of this cell,

and the memory

of my brother’s face.

I THINK PAIN

is contagious,

because the throbbing

in my mouth

has returned

and it is as terrible

as each thought

of Kwasi’s lifeless body

dangling.

I can only cry inside

because noise

will bring rage

from the men with guns.

My brother is gone, my brother is gone, I murmur over and over, until

the pang of his death, until

the pain in my mouth, until