THE ALLIGATOR'S GREAT NEED AND GREAT DESIRE Poem by Ruth Sophia Padel

To be thermally, forever, stable. (That surprised you.) Harder than it seems,
But thermo-regulation is their thing. When the air
Is colder than the water, October to late March,
They keep to dens below the water table.
Away from them, caught by a cold snap, they become
Completely numb, incapable of moving. All they do is breathe
Surface-oxygen through air-holes. Temperature is their goal,
Their god and good. During winter, they take no food.

They pick an under-hang of lake or stream which will
Stay filled with water when the spring freshet recedes.
Listen to Mr Ned. "See him," he says, "back out of that hole
He's making burdened with dollops of soft mud
In his mouth and on his tail, pushing a mass of mud
With webbed hind feet. He's one busy alligator, sweeping his tail
From side to side. And trees round gator holes grow
Darker green, their roots enriched by droppings."

For water's everything. The darkest alligators come, thought Ned,
From Tupelo Gum Swamp where the flow is black,
Dyed by its maker's hand - the bark, roots, fallen leaves
Of Tupelo Gum. Gator holes, especially of older beasts
Who, weary, cannot want to move,
Run a long way underground. That's how they manage. They survive,
When they can't bear what's outside. They know, whatever knowing is
For them, they'll have to face the winter. So, they dig.