I ran a squirrel over today.
I snuffed out a life–
can still feel the crunch of his little body against my wheel,
between my wheels, and under my wheel;
the small, still lump in the middle of the lane,
fading fast in my rearview mirror.
Unintentional, accidental roadkill;
there just wasn’t enough space for both of us around that winding, steep-banked bend.
That millisecond of time, me stomping the brakes and him jerking back whence he came
…but there just wasn’t enough time…
I wasn’t even going that fast.
I think of all the squirrels I know back home, and how
I’ll fall apart anew when I see them again.
How to appease this sorrow, this horror in the face of common cruelties?
My guilt sits in silence, in memorial.
Author’s note: I see a lot of roadkill. Unfortunately, this is not a unique experience. I wish none of this happened, but after my experience I read that donating to a local wildlife rescue can help us grieve and atone. That’s what I’ve done; writing also helps.
This poem first appeared in Lit Shark Magazine (2025).
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Catherine Puma (she/they) is a queer writer with a bachelor’s degree in Environmental Sciences and English and a master’s degree in Tropical Marine Ecosystem Management. A member of the Poetry Society of Virginia and the Women’s Aquatic Network, their work has been published in ionosphere, Lit Shark Magazine, and The Blotter Magazine. Their website is www.catherinepumawrites.com.
