Dice

The first set stolen out of a classic games collection.

Thrown into a leather cup my parents kept around.

Soon I found more between pawns and knights,

Meeples, plastic chips in all colors and sizes,

Wooden bricks and fake rocks and diamonds,

Stored high up the shelf in a glass jar of wonders.

I dug my tiny hands deep in, looking for treasure.

What joy I yielded just cannot be measured.

A die.

Six sides.

All different.

With numbers or colors or letters.

I ran to my best friend with glee,

Showing what magic I discovered.

We spent nights rolling dice to made up rules,

Playing games we now have long forgotten.

One roll to see how strong I am.

Another one to see who goes first.

The next one to help me decide.

A last one shows how far I’ve come.

Soon the dice were more than off-white.

Shining in colors, LEDs blinking bright.

Round dice, wooden dice as big as my fist.

Rolling a die felt like making a wish.

Every single one a story, a milestone,

Much more than meets the eye.

Infinite possibilities in every one I own,

This is a thank you to the die.

For the games I discovered,

The sweat and tears when I muttered:

„Let this be a good roll“.

And whether you followed my call

Or let me down in despair,

I want to thank you for all the memories

You have created for me to share.

Life would be so predictable if you weren’t there.