Yarrow House

Trojan Nuclear Plant

The trees pluck at the mist
scooping hollows in it.
They are gentle, empty.
Above them rises, stark
as a shell,
a temple, 
an ominous sanctuary
for some new god who stalks us
raining through the leaves
a curse on all our children
and on this earth
and on its seeds.
—Oh, we can see them now, 
they lie dead in the bony hands
of those who one day 
will curse us for our ripe worship.

Published in San Fernando Poetry Journal (1981); Voices for Peace (1983), Peace and Justice Education Center News (1984)

Onetime reproduction for non-resale purposes permitted by the author with the following credit line: by J Yarrow