Slickshadow by hil hoover

It fades too slow.

A sweep of the flashlight, 

a wary eye to the treeline, 

the single small shack, 

that broken fence that 

no one tore down yet, 

and the thing is,

it ain’t wrong entirely, 

it might be the result of one 

of them things, could be 

me just mistaking the angles 

or my sometimes-fuzzy eyes, 

or any number of excuses, except…

It just fades too slow. 

I’ve used this light to 

signal for help on the mountain

to light half the holler that time

lil Joe got lost chasing that 

black dog, 

held it steady for all kinds of 

delicate procedures and 

desperate crises 

and yet… 

The bright beam swings toward the 

strange nothingness on the ground, 

and instead of disappearing, it kinda 

just slinks away, like liquid, 

like that rat bastard who 

took all momma’s money that one summer, 

like the gross sludge that spoiled the well, 

like the devil, sidling away with your

soul at the crossroads. 

What did it take from me, I wonder, 

and will I ever even know?