when he does not wake

are the last things

I hear

before

we are shoved

away.

REST IN PEACE

Seeing Owu’s body

lying prone

on the ground,

asleep one moment,

lifeless the next,

a boy, like me

no longer,

sends tremors

through me.

It will be okay, Auntie Afua whispers,

clasping her strong fingers

in mine

to calm

my shivering.

He is free now, Kofi.

LEAVING

One guard leads us

with a lamp

through a hatch

in the wall

that opens

to an even darker

underground tunnel

while the other

stands at our rear

with a firestick

daring us

not to obey.

I hold on to Afua

through the narrow passageway,

which holds a haunting light

at its uncertain end

that we are pushed toward.

The crashing of water

grows so loud

the farther we walk

I worry it will somehow rush in

and devour me.

At the end

of the tunnel

is an archway of daylight

is a curved opening

is an entrance

to some unknown.

A door

of no return.

TERROR

On the other side

of the door

is the edge

of the mighty blue

that Nana Mosi

has talked about

that I have dreamed of

a body of water

so awesome

and large

it could breathe

a million clouds

drag the moon

across its gigantic waves

but this is not a dream

I am trying to climb out of

this roaring blue

is an angry nightmare

is a monstrous mouth

and it is wide enough

to swallow us

whole.

WE ARE FORCED

into a wooden boat

like the one War Horn stole us in.

Maybe they are taking us home, I say,

trying to crush the fear

with a tiny hope.

Maybe, Afua answers,

as we paddle

away from the castle door

toward a colossal vessel

sitting in the middle

of the distant sea.

FLYING HOME

A trio of large, long-tailed

white-necked birds

fly low near us

skimming for small fish

before soaring back

toward the shore.

If only.

AHEAD

of our flatboat

are dozens more

lined up

next to a massive, sand-colored

floating fort

with two masts

that fly a large, tattered banner

with seven bright red stripes

and thirty-three very white stars.

THE UNLOADING

From the distance,

I count sixty-seven

shackled men pushed and pulled, climbing out and up.

When it is our turn

I look back

at the world we are leaving

at the seabirds

soaring above the shore

at the tall palms

waving goodbye

and for a second

wonder

if I should dive in

and swim

for my life.

Afua smiles at me, then

shakes her head,

eyeing the giant cannon

pointing at us

from above,

whose shots

would certainly

outrace me.

A ROPE LADDER

drops down

next to our boat.

Beneath a black eagle

with stretched arms and feet

painted onto the ship’s side

I make out the carved letters: USS Georgetown.

Standing atop is

a man as pale

and pink

as rotten coconut meat

with a shiny, golden cross