To revolt? How do you know this? I ask.

The song they sing, do you hear it?

Yes, it is the same, over and over.

It is a song of flight. They have figured out how to unloose their chains.

And what will they do then?

When it is time, you will know. And you will stand tall, to the rising sun. Yes?

Yes.

And you will believe in your freedom, yes?

Yes.

It is your right, Kofi. No one can give it. No one can take it. It will not be easy to survive that which you are not meant to, but you must know your worth, fight to maintain it. Do not forget what your auntie says.

Afua, why do you speak as if—

Agoo!

Ame.

I will die before I let them kill me again.

But you… you will escape, I promise you.

Follow your dream.

And remember to listen

for the song…

SONG OF FLIGHT

Escape? How?

Are we to walk

on water?

Is she telling me

that the men below

have wings?

Something Mr. Phillip

used to boast

before he gave us

his English lessons

pops into my head:

This is a new world.

There is no flying

from fate.

NIGHT TWENTY-SEVEN

Afua is not dragged out

this time,

because she does not resist.

The eager man unshackles her

and pulls her

with no trouble

from our cage.

She turns,

looks at me

with steeled eyes

as if

she is assured and ready

as if

she has the power.

When she smiles

at me, it is like

she has just seen

the next move

in a game

of Oware

and her victory

is destined.

Then she does the unimaginable.

MUTINY

While he closes

and locks the gate,

she stomps the sharp heel

of her calloused foot

into the back of his knee

with so much force

that his bone

nearly pops out

of its skin.

The popping kneecap

is a crack of lightning

to my ears.

Her violent laugh

and his painful howl

are alarms.

By the time

the drunken others come

to the rescue

with their guns hoisted

and their pink faces panicked

it is too late.

Afua has climbed

on the ship’s wooden railing,

holding the wounded man’s dagger

to his own neck, and

damning them all—I curse you.

And you. And you, she says, pointing

to our captors.

Your children will not have children. And the sea will open up,

swallow you bone by wonderful bone,

blood and water. So be it!

She turns to me, smiles, says,

Do not forget to listen for the beautiful things, Kofi,

drops the blade,

spreads each arm out wide,

like she is holding on to the world.

Then she jumps.

AND WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO

when my dreams drown?

When the door

to the last sliver of hope

is sealed?

What am I supposed to do now

in this land of cold

underneath

an arch of pallor

with no comfort