Granny etched our board
into the earth.
Dirt paper with a stick pencil. 

Barefoot 
we collected our pieces: 
snail shells found by dusty feet,
then washed cold 
from creekside mussel hunting. 

The water rose.
Our pawns turned into boats. 
Checkers are meant for smart folk,
we were too poor. 

But Granny had buttons
in her wicker sewing basket.
She placed them on the brown inside
of a Sugar Chex cereal box 

and we were rich again.