to blanket

the gloom,

to protect me

from the swallowing blues

all around us?

I NO LONGER COUNT THE DAYS

since Ama and I shared a coconut

since Ebo and I raced to the river last

since my brother’s undoing

since I have seen my family

since Afua leapt overboard

or the number of tears

from the crying children beside me

or the number of times

the girls are taken

and returned

and taken

or the grumbles

from my hollowed stomach

or the falling clouds

or the thunderclaps

or the nights

of terror chasing me

or the disappearing stars.

Now I only count

the black holes left

in the graying chambers

of my breaking heart.

BATTEN DOWN

The rain, once just a hint,

a slow, single weep,

is now a full-on storm.

The purple sky pours,

the wind races

in circles,

knocking the rowdy waves

into our vessel.

And the men with no color

scatter about

distressed, hollering

trying to maneuver

the tilting ship.

WRECKED

The seventh time we slam

into the swelling sea

feels like we have hit

a massive rock.

The force of the crash

rattles the cage door open

and we are thrown

into each other,

and onto the decks.

I hear desperate cries

as some of the men

with no color

are lifted up

and overboard.

I can make out two words

that they keep screaming

over and over.

ABANDON SHIP!

THE SEA IS A RAGING MONSTER

and it has come to slay

all in its den.

The wooden ship is no match

for the nonstop battering,

the ferocious pounding.

But still it fights

to right itself

until it can no longer.

SHATTERED

I miss grabbing sweet mango

on the way

to getting wood

for my maame.

I crave the red berries

that Ebo and I ate

to grow taller.

The necklace I began making

for Ama

still sits next

to my bed

atop the book

I never returned

to Mr. Phillip.

I hope that the ancestors do dwell beneath

to assist us, because

I need them now…

These are all the things

swimming

in my mind

when we crash

into what feels like

a solid wall of water

and the ship splits in half

like the shell

of a coconut.

WRATH AND FURY

Inch by inch

the ship sinks

and one by one

I watch

the same happen to

wailing boys

and girls

and for the first time

I see the big men

from below

up close

some still chained together

shouting

in familiar

and unfamiliar tongues

thrashing

and bashing

and disappearing.

I hold on

to a wedge of the ship

sliced away

in the wreck

and watch the helpless wonderfuls

crying like babies

drag each other

under.

My heart hammers away

at my chest.

I turn my eyes

in each direction

wondering which way

is somewhere

when I think

I spot

one of the long, wide, white-breasted black birds

from home,

hovering.

When it is time, you will know. Follow your dream,