IGUANA Gretchen Fletcher I watch him, a latter-day leviathan, as he rises from the depths to break the black surface with his fern green head, all finny points and scaly crags, housing that most primitive brain named for his class: Reptilia. Dragging his straggly dewlap like the beard of an ancient, he snakes silently through the canal, foraging for vegetation, propelled by the underwater lashing of his serpentine tail all ringed in black and green. Out of synch with chronology, he comes from a past my ancestors don't yet inhabit as if surfacing from my deepest nightmares, a cold-blooded incubus.

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