Salvaged Shipwreck  Beverly Koepplin

I am a salvaged shipwreck.

For years upon years, I sank, then drifted

sometimes heavily, floundering on the bottom, scraping my hull,

sometimes drifting with the wind running through the seas, at their mercy,

sometimes still and quiet in the murky waters, blindly waiting

until the currents lifted me and let me go.

Barnacles fed on me, sharp teeth nibbling at my rusty shell,

the creatures of the sea swam around and through me,

heavy green seaweeds beribboned my bow and floated around me

like tendrils of sea road showing me the way away

but still I waited until the currents lifted me and let me go.

Sometimes, not often, the few graces I could find lifted me up

so I would see light on the surface of the waters

thin and yellow and wavering and tantalizing.

But then I would sink yet again, wallowing in the troughs of despair,

Waiting for the currents to lift me and let me go.

One day the waters rolled magnificently below me

and with a mighty thundering roar heaved my tired and aching hull up and up

and gently set me on land, on a craggy ledge of rock that held me,

until I could find my legs, until I could see a clear path to walk,

and I waited no more for the currents to let me go.

I am a salvaged shipwreck.

                            ***