the death of spot

we hardly
knew the small
blonde gerbil
bought with
a point of a
child's finger
from pet smart,
named on the spot
as spot.
we heard his or
her
wheel
tumble in its
familiar
squeak
at all hours,
he or she did nothing,
but eat and sniff,
scurry about in
it's gerbil way,
but little did
we know
the grief
we'd feel when
the power lines
went down
and the heat
went off.
the silence was
the clue.
he or she
was not buried
under the sand
or wood chips
in the small
cage, there was no
escape
to lower ground,
away from the tall
dresser
where it lived.
the arms and legs
were straight
up as he or she lay
stiff, having
surrendered it's short
loved life
to the cold.
so to the snow
covered yard we took
him or her in a small
white box.
tossing the hard
earth upon it, saying
things we will one
day say for
each other.