Fur Season

In the short days of winter
I watched from outside the shed window
shadowed and careful to be quiet on cracking ice
as you flayed fur from foxes
or muskrat, drank beer, and
sang along with the tinny AM transistor
for hours and days and years.
Blood and guts glued your thick fingers
in a sweet sticky steam
that stuck in the back of my throat.
Animal insides warmly wrapped
your hands like my wishes never would
all the times you raised them
like spooked snakes
to strike one of us—
swinging bodies respond to
your expert slices.
Small mammals so much more mute,
yielding and forgiving
than a wife and kids.

Sherris Schwind is the single mother of two and a freelance writer residing in Toledo, Ohio, where she can be heard performing her poetry at intimate venues and presenting her research in global women's issues at The University of Toledo. She is seeking publication for a poetry collection entitled, "The Mourning Galleries" as well as developing children's books in collaboration with Chicago-based artist Kelsey Fernandez.