Vox Populi
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Gary Fincke: The Chernobyl Swallows
In April, near the anniversary
Of catastrophe, barn swallows returned,
Flying inside the exclusion zone to
Nest in the radioactive ruins.
Like disciples, the swaddled scientists
Marveled. The work crews, weeks later, toasted
The newly hatched, especially the fledged
With albino feathers after they soared
Like their siblings, devouring insects
With the ravenous hunger of swallows.
For months, the left-behind celebrated
How weak the worst was, and when the swallows,
No exceptions, flew southward, how feeble
Apocalypse could be. But come spring, not
One of the white-flecked birds returned, only
The ordinary nesting and spawning
Their own mutations. Families, by then,
Had moved back to where the world was quiet
And uncrowded, reclaiming rooms inside
The official radius of poison.
And through succeeding springs, no flight with white
Above them, just guards and squatters were left
To praise what they took for heroism,
Even if only among the swallows.
Copyright 2024. First published in The Somerville Times/The Infinity Room. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Gary Fincke is the recipient of many awards including the Bess Hokin Prize from Poetry magazine and the Rose Lefcowitz Prize from Poet Lore.
Vox Populi 
I’m late getting to this, this is the Sunday I’ve decided and have been deleting some portion of 10,000 unread emails, but this is a fabulous poem Gary. You should be proud, and how amazing you possess the knowledge with which you crafted this beautiful poem
Thankyou.
I’m so glad I set it aside (and there are others) to catch up with and read.
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Wow!
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That’s a very fine poem.
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Yes, Gary’s craft is impeccable, and there are always resonances in his poem which I continue hearing long after the poem is finished.
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