He said she’d not make a good poker player.
She only played once, now one’s for the taking.
The white chips— for the lowest wager—
and she’s still gambling on a turnaround.
No more conceit. No more lies.
“Double or nothing?” Sure…
when your life is at stake.
She’s in the circle blinking back the tears.
Now they’re all clapping, and she has it in her hand,
Rough edges, smooth center, the imprint of its maker,
Kind of like the shape of a soul trying to heal.
You carry it with you anywhere but can forget it is there,
Until all bets are off and you’re under the table.
Some cheap tokens earn more than their weight in grace.