I the ancient kingdom of Benin water was the realm
of the ancestors; it was seen as a mirror reflection
of the land of the living. So where is my father?
Is he waiting for me under the water.
Will he approve of me or beat me or love me,
or even know me. In the kingdom of Benin metal

was traded for pepper, ivory, and finally slaves. Metal—
brass, silver. History lives in the realm
of the imagination as much as dreams. How does „me"
arrive in this equation? How does the reflection
of my culture shine on me? Slaves across te water,
the trauma of racism. My father

did not particulary like the word black. My father
would grow up acquire metal,
then what escape and peace it could buy. If water
brought us here, and it did, and, it is the realm
of the ancestors—where's my mother? The reflection
in the mirror this morning is somewhere beyond me.

The construction of the African American me
goes back over the water, past father,
Daddy. So much of my life has been a reflection
of that decision to trade flesh for metal.
My life has been lived in the realm
of shame, I look to water, water

to heal, water to cleanse. Water
to nourish. Though I think honesty is what will heal me—
honesty and the courage to feel again. The realm
of the ancestors, if it's water and my father
is there, he is there without the metal—
wedding ring or gun. He is bathing in the reflection

of a young boy's dreams. When we look at his reflection
it is of a boy without shoes or shame. Water
can be polluted. The history of Benin was preserved in metal,
stolen by the British, put in museums. Now it is me,
centuries from home taking notes in a museum, learning my father
is in the water, ancestor, in another realm.

In the morning's mirror the reflection goes into the realm
of the land of the dead. In my lips, my jaw I see my father,
metal, and ships upon water. Did he ever really love me?