Missing Girl, 1986

By | 1 April 2010

The zombie has a panic attack
in the middle of her feeding frenzy
and all of a sudden she is vomiting up
blood and body parts, the partially digest
arms of a newborn, the hindquarters
of a jack rabbit, torso of a Barbie doll.

Her first instinct is to shove
the contents back down her throat,
but waves of nausea overtake,
and she is shaking too hard to swallow.

She has visions of a little girl clutching a pink
dinosaur, Lucy, both of them
buried alive behind the mobile home
by a man with bloodshot eyes
and his zipper all the way down,
saying, “Touch it. Go on now. Touch it.”

She remembers inside the grave
and the way she hurt down there
where he had kept poking her.
She had promised Lucy
if they made it out alive,
she would find him and eat him
whole. Guts and all.

The next thing she remembers:
a swarm of flies entering the grave
and depositing eggs inside her moist cavities.
How afterwards, her whole body hummed.
Later, upon hatching, the noise inside her skin
woke her up. She would never sleep again.

Sometimes now, the hunger is insatiable,
the need stronger than a warning.
Even as her muscles quake, and panic
tightens her jaw, a small child cries
in an upstairs room, and she moves towards it, famished.

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