MOMMY: By Beverly V. Head
Monday, February 21st, 2011“Mommy, I’m still hungry.”
“I know, Sweetie.” The mother looked at her child’s messy face. “I know.”
“Can’t we look for more food?”
The mother looked at the sky. Then she looked again at her little girl. The child looked so pitiful in her stained blouse and torn shorts. She could remember when the outfit was new. She had bought it for her third birthday party. Or maybe it had been her fourth birthday party. She looked at the sky again, trying to figure out the time. She had a watch on her arm, but it had stopped working a long time ago. But she continued to wear it. She didn’t know why.
“Mommy, can’t we look for more food?” The little girl asked again.
“No, we have to get home.”
“We don’t have a home anymore.”
“You know what I mean. We have to take cover somewhere. We don’t have much time left.” The mother walked toward an abandoned building. There was no sign, but it looked like an old school.
The little girl dragged her feet. She didn’t want to go in another abandoned building. She was afraid of them. She was so hungry. She was tired.
The mother and daughter went to the back of the building to look for a door or a window.
“Look, Mommy,” the little girl cried. “There is a swing set. Can’t I swing for a little while?”
“Sweetie, we don’t have much time. You know how dangerous it is to be out in the open for too long.” The mother did not want to look at her daughter. She did not want to see the sadness in the child’s eyes.
“Just one swing? Please? I won’t ask for more food. I promise.”
The mother knew better, but she relented. “Okay, just one quick swing. But only one swing. You know they will be coming soon.”
The little girl got carefully into the swing and pushed off with her bare feet. She looked happy. Her mother looked at her child’s damaged feet, but there was nothing that she could do about them or about her own scraped feet and legs.
Suddenly, there was the noise of someone approaching from the front of the building.
“We have to get inside now,” the mother said. “We have to hide. They are looking for us.” She wanted to grab her daughter, but she didn’t want to hurt her hands or arms. They had to be so careful.
“Why do they hate us so much, Mommy?” The little girl hurried as much as she could to the broken basement window that her mother was standing beside, waiting on her.
They had just managed to get inside when they heard the people rush into the playground. Men and women held baseball bats, hockey sticks, and other weapons.
They yelled and screamed. “Get them! Get the zombies!”
As the people gathered outside, the mother and daughter cowered in the basement hoping to make it through one more day.
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©2011 Beverly V. Head
After 38 years of college teaching, Beverly V. Head has turned in her keys and left the building. Her book of poetry, Walking North, was published by Michigan State Press as part of the Lotus Poetry Series.
