Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge

Think of ocean spill-off creepingover the outer banks into these brackish

channels which course alongside gravelroads, with bramble-thick new growth

forest on one side, Monsanto corntended in pristine rows on the other—

a black bear rises on his hind legs on a hilland looks at Regina and I as we get out

of the car. He’s young and diureticallypassing indigestible kernels, and she pokes

his poorly formed scat pile with a stickjust as the bear turns tail for the woods.

A storm purpling the distance dipsa waterspout into the sea for a drink,

and I say that we’ll never see a red wolfhere, rust-colored as they are against

these impossible woods. Bordering the edgeof this refuge sits a Navy bombing range

wherein ordinance gets routinely detonated;but today, all is quiet save our boots

scuffling gravel. No doubt the sea levelis rising everywhere these days and even

the modest models show this refugegoing under—as we walk, I imagine the corn

waving like kelp below the currents,fish pecking the yellow leftover bits,

trees holding their skirts above the kneesand waiting for the water to recede.

And when it doesn’t? What fossilsthe land will have secured for future

scuba divers: black gum roots loosedfrom soil; the slow bones of mammals

with nowhere else to go; and the bombs,o the bombs—the Navy won’t make it to all

of you before the deluge. You too will justhave to wait for the waters to come.