The Forest Of Nightmares Poem by Sheena Blackhall

‘You’re going home, ’ we told them
‘Line up quickly. You’re going to see your families.

First, we’ll give you a meal,
Then a ration of bread and three herrings
To eat on the journey.

See: here’s your guard of honour
And a military band
To play you onto the trains! ’

At Gnezdovo we searched them
Stole their money.
We bussed them in groups of twenty
Into the forest
Gagged, their arms tied at their backs.
The pines wore a dusting of snow
The sun was jaundiced.
The pit was already dug.

We led them, six at a time
To kneel at the mouth of their grave.
To look on the layer of bodies
Sandwiched heel to toe.
Crack! A shot through the head
A boot in the back
And the thud as they tumbled over
Dead meat, to be trampled flat,
Spread out in the pit like dung.

Tiny shards of frost
Shimmered like glass in the cold
The witnessing pines were mute
The ferns turned a blind eye.