In Which Carmen Writes Yet More Creepy Poetry

[xaara]

A little backstory on this one: during World War II, many Italians, especially Northern Italians, joined various resistance movements. A major partisan center was Bologna, where resistance was strong, well-planned, and highly effective. As a result, the Fascists in power at the time rounded up several hundred of the young men who had played a part in the movement, imprisoned them, and then marched them up one of the hills surrounding Bologna to Sabbiuno, where they were shot and left in a sort of improvised mass grave in the valley beneath. I just came across my pictures of the memorial there now--a chain of barbed wire from the top of the hill to the spot at which the bodies came to rest, which is commemorated by a single white cross. All along the top of the hill are boulders, some of which bear the names of the men killed but many of which are blank because the resistance fighters who correspond to them are still unidentified.

The Execution

prison, the night before:

huddled together against the December cold
whispered prayers (O God!) and frozen tears
the wide eyes of a boy, teeth chattering
blind bitter wet miserable terrified

then – morning and a march up the hill
to Sabbiuno
seven kilometers, some don't even make it that far

wind scouring the barren hills,
church bells of Bologna in the distance
crunch of boots over frozen ground
scrape of metal against stiff cloth

heads held high, lined up
profiles against the turbulent sky
shots and they crumple over the crest;
with a snapping of underbrush
they roll to rest at the bottom.