When I was a kid, I would spend summer days at the lake
that cooled the power station and kept Fall floods at bay
and the clam shells littered the beach, and I got sore arms
skipping sun bleached shells, between the test alarms
other summers, easy, flowed away in the creek,
through a park they let go wild ‘cause the hills were a little steep
and flat stones were currency, quartz for commoners
soapstone was carried miles up, ‘cross banks, hills, and yards
And a hefty chip of inorganic piece-of-something-slate
was better spent in pleasure, the most skips, the farthest range
they still have the reactor, and they still preserve the park
and I’ve not yet forgotten how local quartz and steel will spark
but girlhood has passed and is recalled by every thing
Cool, shady forests and deep flowing streams
