my father said, she doesn’t even check her tickets,
his white teeth torn into the setting sun.
i run down the pebble path, keep the porch light on, its glow quivering in the night,
cut across the grass with footsteps of a bunny’s, lighthearted
until i yank the handle, door croaking open, grab crumpled pieces of paper
from the backseat, scramble upwards towards my mother
who carries their crinkled slips as gingerly as ketchup packs,
tucking them into the hot pink purse as if depositing them to the kitchen’s bowl,
zipper hands meet at the hip & metal centipede knits,
supple leather bending into her stomach.
at the cracked pavement of the parking lot my father told me, don’t
open the door for anyone, though the night was only there in slivered shadows.
while his entrance alludes chimes, my fingers curled into the sun
against the glass. he came out with more tangerine paper in his palms
& dimes and pennies ringing in his fist. the first lesson in math
i remembered was impromptu, from my mother: count your change.
when her hand clutched mine as we passed streets she called “shady”
she told me, someone wins the lottery, if only once
edges of words cutting in tomorrow
into yesterday, my father talks about the house he will buy
us, voice lingering in the car, broad smile & his eyes
moonshine, for a second, before drifting to the road.
in the dark corner of the car, my head leans into the cold window,
nostalgia in the time spent counting minutes & miles,
in my dreams i open the drawer & monarchs burst into the air,
one after the other. i remember my mother’s words, it’s worth it,
worth the small chance, she knows the tax is over 25% though they don’t
write that on the prize money.
my hands swallow mouthfuls of paper. i run letting the warmth of home take me,
i slam the light switch, flip the lock, empty pockets, leave sneakers by the door. i know,
the chances of winning the lottery in California are one in 42 million.
my mother calls me, my name the same syllables on her tongue as new years’ sunset,
when my parents asked me what numbers were special. i look into her eyes
& for a moment out of 86,400 daily, i watch her lips break into a smile,
the only way i remember her & i hand her the lottery tickets.