God Lives in the Casino in the Form of my Grandmother

Neya Krishnan, Class of 2021

The first stop on our road trip is Atlantic City.

When we arrive, I walk with my grandma across a boardwalk

that breathes life into our feet and takes us to summer.

I watch her slip into the Hard Rock Hotel Casino,

a strut in her hips and a sari carefully clinging to her figure.

This is where she claims her power.

Here, she is not the housewife, the middle school dropout,

or the death of her child that broke her.

Here, she is not her broken English, the earthquakes in her hands,

or the pacemaker that controls her heart.

Here, with coins, she gambles.

She changes mere cents into dollars,

mere tens into hundreds, always leaving

with more than she started.

Here, she is God

amongst a crowd of sweaty, broke

men and women.

When we leave she wants to buy me a stuffed animal

from a local gift shop or take me to the Ferris wheel

using the money she earned.

But I won’t let her.

Some things are far too sacred to steal.