Tatiana returns
to Chernobyl April 2006
These silent woods are gravely green
against a blue forgotten
sky.
How ugly that concrete
coffin,
that sarcophagus crazed with
fissures
where sparrows flit here and
there
like the souls of the
dead.
Which one my mother, which my
dad?
Over there on the roofs of
blocks
predating Glasnost, Soviet
slogans
scrawl the glory of
work
Here's my old home. Push open
the door.
Inside a floor bristles
shards of glass,
cans, bits of broken
furniture.
A complete
high-chair
survives my childhood
past..
They say this place is
secure
since men now gone shovelled
poisoned fire
into the sepulchre's core.
People are not gods.
One day the family dog will
turn and bite.
Far away in the west on the
slopes of Snowdon
sheep graze where the sun
licks
their backs. The Geiger still
ticks.