the weight of my wounded world

is just too much too much to carry

and I have to let it go, let it out.

So, I do.

OUTCRY

My piercing screams wake everyone

but I do not care.

The other boys tremble in unease

and no one tells me to Shhhhh.

Guards do not even come rushing in

to threaten us

and if they did,

it would not matter.

Kwasi is dead

and my body can no longer house

the river of tears

swelling inside like an angry morning tide.

I am on the other side of hope,

the place numb to fear.

A place I could have never imagined

that I now live in.

You killed him.

THEY KILLED HIM!

LATER ON

Drink this tea, says the bald one, the one with two fish on his cheek, waking me up.

…

It will help with the hurt, he adds, touching the side of his mouth, then his chest.

…

It is good you have calmed down. More outburst will only agitate.

My brother is dead.

Drink.

…

It is your face that will fall off, not mine, he says, shrugging, leaving the bowl of tea next to me, then picking up his gun.

Why are you helping me? I ask, holding my jaw, trying to wish my troubles away.

Two Fish turns back around

and puts his finger to his lips.

Shhh! he whispers, pointing to the tea.

Maybe he wants to poison me, I think,

pondering my kidnapper’s motive,

until the tea’s familiar scent

passes beneath my nose

and a not-so-distant

calming memory comes

rushing back to me

like a tide

to the shore.

A SOOTHING MEMORY

A bruised arm

A battered pride

A girl’s smile

A healing gift

A fuzzy stem

A woody spice

A clove leaf

A sacred touch

A finger soft

A melting heart

A liquid voice

A closed eye

A better day

A soothing memory.

I SWALLOW

the sweet past

to soothe

my bitter present.

The night slips away

taking with it

the throbbing

the grief

the crying,

making room

for a tinge

of relief

and the sounds

of another bound day.

SOUNDS I HEAR

The heavy rattle

of rain dropping

The thundering thud

of trees falling

The blistering crack

of wood breaking

and the hopeless fate

echoing inside

me

and my cellmates.

WHAT I BELIEVE

is that we are prisoners,

some, maybe of war,

others, of lesser disputes,

some here as debts to be repaid,

to become house boys,

servants to the King,

and others, like me,

as consequence

for wronging Lower Kwanta,

who now seek

their revenge.

What I know

is that we are locked

in a dark cell,

our legs fastened

to stakes

in the dirt,

fed a bowl of rice

with only a few mouthfuls

of water

once at dusk.

What I see

is that

because he refuses

to eat

or drink,

two of our captors pry

the Zombie’s mouth open

with some two-bladed metal thing

while a third