My daughter joined my older daughter and her kids at Avery Island, Louisiana, a few miles south of us. It’s the home of the Tabasco plant. The place is beautiful, set on an inlet from the Gulf of Mexico. The water is fresh water and yes, there are gators there. Alligators are generally not aggressive animals. They peacefully float along the surface. I’m not sure, but this might have been June’s first time to see an alligator out in the wild.
Let’s play with enjambment today. Enjambment is a poetic element in which a sentence or phrase continues from one poetic line to the next, without end punctuation. Enjambment can create a surprise or suspense.
Here’s an example from Maggie Smith’s poem “First Fall”:
“I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark
morning streets, I point and name.
Look, the sycamores, their mottled
paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves”
Here is my draft:
Your finger is the guide here, pointing,
noticing, identifying first gator.
You say, “Foggie,” and Mom
repeats, “That’s an alligator!”
You point again, fumble over
new syllables, soaking up
space, place, and being
a toddler on tour.
Margaret Simon, draft
Reflections on the Teche 
