When the dollars came in
Bundles of hundred dollar bills
One would think it came from sin.
But every note gave me chills.
To see the product of the mind when
I lean up on window sills
I know why I work the markets, then.
It’s like collecting money from tills.
To have rolls in the bin
Is when I feel the loveliest thrills.
I see them cut sharper than a shark fin.
The dollars let me breathe like gills.
I stack the money up to my chin.
I earned it all from my skills.
It never gets too thin.
The cash comes in boxes with no frills.
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Skyler Saunders
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Smartystan
Chanda sent home money every two weeks. In a small village in India, she deposited money into the bank account of her aunt and uncle who sent her to live in America. The place seemed so remote, almost cut off from the rest of the country. There, a festival took place where participants hurled cow eliminations at each other. The muddy, mucky sense of it had been known for centuries. Locals tied it to an ancient god who they believed restored people’s health with the cow plops. During the festival, thick patties passed through the air and smushed into the bodies and faces of those rollicking around in the filth.
By Skyler SaundersExclusive • 5 days ago
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