raffle ticket

i trade a tooth for a raffle ticket.
it is the year that the birds stop birding
& return to the ground to hide.
i get a shovel & dig, hoping to reunite
with the fairy people beneath the soil.
god they must have it so good down there
with so many centuries of quiet. 
i go to a party where the only food
is raffle tickets. someone whispers to me,
"i had a cousin who won." i do not know
anymore if i want to win. at night
on the red television, they call out a number
& someone weeps. someone hugs their loved ones.
i do not know what happens. no one knows
what happens. we are assured that it is not death
or even a rebirth. that it is some mythical
third dawn that is ready
to make us dazzling & white. sometimes i do not
even watch. somedays i do not even
have a raffle ticket. instead, if i am alone
i look at my palms & remember how
in elementary school my friend read my palm
not like a raffle ticket number but like
a book. he said i would have two great loves
& maybe a child. i did not. it was still 
comforting to have someone else
hold my hand. our warmth. the basketball hoops. 
i wish we still used raffle tickets for church fundraisers
& bingo halls. i want a cellophane veil.
i want a movie night in a box. instead, i have
the windows full like stained glass. the pictures
that come & freeze frame are always terrors.
mysteries grow. become religions. i took out
the tooth with my bare hands. a hunger
for a chance. my first boyfriend
buying lottery tickets & scratching them off
in the gas station parking lot. even that was
more dignified. i want a punch bowl to sleep in.
i want the earth to open & for the fairy to say,
"yes, come & sleep here." the party ends
& i do not go home. the host asks if i need
a place to go & i say i do not. i sit outside.
the streetlamps stare. the moon has an advertisement
projected across his face. it says,
"there is always a chance."