Slipping Away
Poet: Eric Folsom By: Faizan Shahzad, karachiWhatever lies frozen in the ice, a mitten or a Buick, 
 suspended as though floating upside down in the sky. 
 
 The fiddle music was over, so the priest went home 
 and saw the ghost of his father sitting on the bed. 
 
 Late in the season when the ice gets soft, 
 some drunk tries to cross at night and disappears. 
 
 Most people worry about saying the wrong thing, 
 think too long about the darkness beneath their feet. 
 
 Wheels lock automatically 
 when passenger doors are open. 
 
 She gave her daughter the red sweater and a key 
 to the safety deposit box down at the bank. 
 
 Something that shouldn't have been there; 
 a car in the same spot for days, gathering tickets.
 
 
  
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