Peanut, the hamster
who curled under your chin
when you wept uncontrollably
over who knew what
until your heaving slowed,
and you lifted a finger
to stroke his copper fur—
he died first, making a beeline
from the cage you forgot to latch,
to the rat poison we forgot
was still behind our bed.
Nutmeg, Peachie, and so many others
whose names we’ve forgotten—
though you haven’t—all curled
into old age, then stiffened.
It was Spice, your dearest
childhood confidant, who tickled
your nose with his whiskers,
and stayed the longest,
palm-sized bff,
therapist for your woes.
