Where are we going, Mommy?
You said we have to escape to see Grandma.

Sleeping, you woke me,
the moon gasping for life in the gloomy, grimy sky.
“Everything will be alright.”

One hand holding my tattered teddy bear,
Mommy’s in my other,
we wave good bye to our home.

As the sun rises, we reach a rocky, deserted road.

How can Grandma live in
broken buildings,
streets with scattered soda cans and abandoned newspaper,
and rotting remains ruling the air?

People are broken like baby dolls,
missing an arm, an eye, or a heart.

One baby doll lies across the stranded street.
Mommy’s tears drip, cleaning her pale, filthy face.

I haven’t seen those tears
since Daddy left to fight.

Where are we going, Mommy?
When will we go home?