She has old gambler's hands –
her shake stabilized by hearts and diamonds.
A tired curtain parts
and she emerges for 500 points of Rummy.

Family myth recounts a lost month's rent,
and no heating oil one Boston April –
frost on the bathroom mirrors,
pipes cracking in the night.

I remember learning to count –
magic seven,
crazy eight,
big niner –
and lessons in sophistication –
the Ace can precede the Deuce
or trump the King
depending on her mood –
but that was already in the Bingo Years.

I throw a queen
and she plays it from the pile –
a run royal.
"Next time," I smile,
and deal again.