Sarah Rosengarten
As a kid I had a hamster that we made fun of for his massive balls
He didn’t know how much we laughed at him
He had a stroke
Half the hamster’s body would drag
the other half across the dry bedding
I came home from school
and found his open mouth
pressed against the glass
Long front teeth like stalagmites
We buried him in Central Park
the hamster
by the reservoir
and I thought there must be other hamsters here
Many ways for something so small to die
I read the signpost and asked my mom
who was Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis
she said
she watched her husband’s brains get blown out
among other things
Whoever did it had their reasons
and she had hers
for chasing down flying useless pieces of body
like a cat thrashing as it’s strangled
by something much stronger than itself
When the hamster started to act not-right
when his foot had become lifeless
I didn’t tell anyone
My sister said
there’s something wrong with your hamster
I said
no there isn’t
I wanted to hold him but
he was afraid of me
one hand the size of all of him
Sarah Rosengarten is a poet from New York. She has work in or upcoming in One Art, Garlic Press, and Stanchion Magazine. She lives in Inwood with two cats
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