The Ship Model

Granny took the waters at Berkeley Springs,
slipping slowly into a pool of sulfurous stuff
bubbling up beneath the West Virginia hills.

A row of women—mostly old, mostly large—clung
to the edge of the pool, held seemingly in stasis
by earth’s vaporous exhalations.

But what could we do in a hot pool all day, two
kids not yet ten? Bored, we’d sneak into the lobby
to gaze in awe at the dusty ship model in the corner.

Wonder of wonders! Purveyor of secret stories!
Herald of historic times! How I imagined unfurling
the stiff sails, setting off for faraway shores.

But no. Another day in the steamy mineral pool
another night in the formal dining room. And yet
when it was time to leave, the manager

took pity on us and handed us the ship—all ours
to carry us on fantasy travels, to whisk us
from hot springs to a cool imagined sea.

The ship sits forlorn in the attic now, beached
on a trunk of Granny’s things. Dusty, yes, but
in my mind still ready to set sail.