C. T. Suddeth

Thursday October 6. Environment is the theme.

And the Lakes Shall Give Up Their Dead

July 1955

Charles Suddeth

Our caravan threaded the Windsor tunnel,

Moldy water dripped off yellow-tiled walls,

Humidity mucked up lungs and eyes,

Pale lights too dim to cut the mist.

We crossed Ontario’s postcard farms,

Stopped near the Lake Erie shore,

Found a cabin lacking electricity,

Dad dumped ice blocks in the ice box.

We jumped into our swimsuits,

Barefooted it to the lake.

The wind bore the stench of death,

Rot reamed out our noses.

Hard rocks replaced sandy beach,

Dead fish carpeted the shoreline,

Silvery bodies gleaming in the sun,

Sightless eyes condemning us.

We bounded from stone to stone,

Feet slipping on slick moss,

Waves lapping at our ankles,

Seaweed spooling around our toes.

Grownups loaded up the cars,

But we begged to go back,

Hoping the fish would come alive

Like a magician’s wondrous trick.