The Lake at Hetta

After weeks of tundra, the sun barely rising, 
Hetta was the town at the end of the trail  
but there was one more lake to cross. 
Wind-polished ice blunted our crampons.  
At ease with silence, the blubber of words long gone. 
If we stayed together the surface might break 
but if we spread out, one might help the other. 
So the beam of two lamps swept back and forth, 
searching out cracks and we drifted like that, 
until we reached the far side of the lake. 
But everything was too bright in town. 
Never again would we get lost on Christmas day.  
Endless miles of tundra. You said it was cold 
but we would be warm together if we dug a hole. 
The next morning it was clear we were done.
The sun barely rising. Too many lights in town. 
There was no more danger
to keep us from drifting apart.

Laurence O’Dwyer | The Blue Shift
Contents | Mudlark No. 79 (2024)