Here and There, the Lake Remembers -by Khen Julia

Along the western rim of Lake Ontario,
the water folds itself between land and stone,
slipping into a marshy inlet tangled
with bridges and winding bike paths.

I walk these trails every day,
not toward any destination—
just moving as the water does:
restless, circling, always returning.

Here, the lake has raised sassafras and willow for generations.
There, a child tosses stones that vanish beneath its surface.
Here, the current hums under a bridge,
the same bridge where I once answered my mother’s call.

And there, far off,
the factories left their stains years ago—
their poisons still hidden beneath the light.
Here again, the city tried to mask a spill,
a secret that leaked anyway.

Some people discard the past like trash—
things dropped, left behind.
But the lake remembers.