By Charles M. Sumid Copyright 2025 Written 2000

The ice road groans beneath our weight
in darkness.

Headlights catch yesterday’s snow
drifting.

We drill where grandfathers drilled.

Orange flags against white.
Each one planted, visible, bright.

Then waiting inside the shanty.
Coffee tastes different here.

Through scratched windows
we watch the flags.

When one snaps upright—

Hand over hand,
feeling the weight.
The life pulsing.

Keep them
or let them go.

Reset, rebaited,
the flag waits.

Late afternoon,
shadows grow long.

Time to gather.

At home
I oil the springs,
check the triggers.

Outside, snow starts again.
The flags stand over dark water.