with one eye suspiciously

remaining open.

This is not just a goat,

the rich man’s father proudly stated.

This goat talks.

The mother’s other eye opened.

Ei! What do you say?

The rich boy’s father repeated his claim.

Our goat, Nimdee, not only speaks,

but he is a sage.

He truly knows everything. Watch.

And with that, he asked Nimdee,

Will it rain today?

Yes, the sky will open rather soon

and the rain will crash against earth,

Nimdee answered, rolling his Rs

in a way that would make

my schoolteacher, Mr. Phillip, proud.

Those in attendance at the wedding

stood by amazed

that the goat indeed spoke.

Whereas Ama was brimming with joy,

so pleased that she would marry

her lifelong love,

her parents looked upon each other

with eyes of shock

and confused pleasure.

It is true, the bride’s father proclaimed.

Your goat can talk. Let the ceremony commence.

Wait one moment, said the mother. Of course

it is going to rain. A fool can see that there

are shadows in the clouds. Anyway, it is rainy

season. Let us ask it something of meaning

and consequence.

The rich boy’s parents huddled

with each other

and their son,

then the father answered, Very well, what will you like to know?

FULL MOON

By the time

I get to the part

in the story

where the girl’s parents decide

what to ask

the goat

Owu has drifted off

to sleep like

the others

and I am left

in this strange

and unfamiliar place

gazing at the same full moon

that stares down

at my father

and Nana Mosi

who must be searching

for me.

RESCUE

Ye ko! I hear

coming from inside

the big tree

that holds me up.

We go, it whispers again,

this time grabbing my shoulder

like its branches are alive

like its branches are

arms.

Now, says Two Fish, appearing before me.

We must go while they sleep.

Wake the little boy

and the others.

I do not understand, I reply.

Do you want to die like your brother? he asks,

not waiting for me to answer. Then come. Ye ko!

But they will—

Before I can finish,

with a heavy hand

he slaps

the doubt

out of my head.

This is your chance! If you want freedom, MOVE! he grumbles.

So, I do.

FEAR

I quietly begin

waking each boy

while Two Fish removes

the twine

that binds our wrists.

All of us stand up,

careful not to crinkle a leaf

or step on a branch

and make a noise

that gives us away.

All, but one of us.

The small boy,

the one who bobs

his head

to and fro,

is frozen in fear.

He does not move.

Chale, I say, we must run, now.

But they will hear us, and then beat us, or worse, he moans.

What can be worse than what has already happened to us?