“O Great Ancestors! Teach ushow to love our enemies.”—Jeffrey YangI.Known by their scars, manus,Latin for hand, manti, Taíno for breast,these paddle-tailed sireniansrange from West Africa to the Caribbeanand once in 1995 one was spottedin Cape Cod, this time not as a Columbianmermaid—the Dugong is the sirenwith the fluked tail. Latirostris’sprehensile snout grasps for hyacinthand other plants in Floridianspring fed rivers, clear as topaz,where their numbers decrease yearly—predated on by human vessels and RedTide. As a child I remembera naturalist’s whisper, every living sea cowbears a disfigurement scratched by human propellers.Floridians know this and still refuseto install skegs onto their boats. II.Once on the Gulf Coast, like any commonsailor, I mistook a breath and darkhead for a person in six foot deepwater, a mother and calf with backswritten on with the cruelest ballad—they approached the canoe. I wishfor such gentleness too, that I toolearn how to forgive enough to approachmy brother. But what is ever gentlein a family? My first memory: Pap grabshis riding crop and the resultingblack welts, You’re not going to be ableto sit for a week, his curse to E— and me,who learned to spy on each other,competing for whatever cabbage-shred of affection. Still,some men’s marks identify—hide in the heart’s deepest riverbeds:E— writhing under Pap’s cane,his manti empurpled by Pap’s manus,for lying about a sixth-gradescience project deadline. Good marksmeant no skin marks. Did I smile whenPap got the school’s call and I knewthat I would be the day’s golden son?I don’t remember. Regret clouds as Red Tide,and still I hear his eleven-year-oldpleading Sorry. Please I’ll be good—and Amma just watches, saying nothing.