Elegy for that time we used to be innocent
and buried our hamster in a large matchbox
after feeding him crumbs of sponge cake
mom had made for Easter day, and we sneaked
in and cut the heel off and hid under the stairs
and you took the hamster out of your pocket
and his little pink snout started feeling things
and we watched him frantically move up and
down our sleeves and run into a piece of cacao
cake and chew on it, smart fellow, you said,
and picked all the little crumbs in your palm,
he stored them all in his cheeks and stayed
still as if savoring the moment, or catching
its breath, then one pouch deflated and his
body stirred with pleasure, later we knew
it was a spasm, a little organ inside must
have snapped, a few seconds later he resumed
his stretching and yawning, little pearly teeth
glistening, you found one final crumb, he sat
up, ears forward, the smell must have lured
him, he grabbed it and the cheek was full again,
and mom called us, so we hurried back to
the kitchen and you slipped him into your
pants pocket and when you sat at the table,
we heard a little snap, mom looked over her
glasses, hands over the green beans and we
swallowed hard and all of a sudden, we were
no longer eight, and the world shuddered with joy.
- © Clara Burghelea 2022
Clara Burghelea is a Romanian-born poet with an MFA in Poetry from Adelphi University. Recipient of the Robert Muroff Poetry Award, her poems and translations appeared in Ambit, Waxwing, The Cortland Review and elsewhere. Her second poetry collection Praise the Unburied was published with Chaffinch Press in 2021. She is Review Editor of Ezra, An Online Journal of Translation.
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