The marble windowsill chilled her fingers as she watched a
squirrel scramble, frantic, along her crisp lawn, stopping here
and there to dig. Staring past frost-shaded mullions, to stark
grey tree trunks, naked against neighbors’ roofs, she watched
the squirrel furiously scratching at solid dirt, searching for what
he’d left behind, then giving up and running away, toward the
road, toward home, and, behind the cold glass, she wondered
where home was.
Kerry Trautman wakes to write at dawn in Ohio. Her poetry and short fiction have appeared in various print and online journals, as well as in the anthologies, Tuesday Nights at Sam and Andy’sUptown Café (Westron Press, 2001), and Mourning Sickness (Omniarts 2008).