hatching

i take a silent Uber ride
into a blue chlorine lake where 
the water is a sickly blue & 
there are lost men playing golf
on the edge. i once found a fleck of gold
the size of a finger nail & i begged
my dad to sell it but he promised
it wasn't worth anything. 
where is that gold now? i check my teeth 
for diamonds. i check the bottom 
of the lake for girls. this is where
so many dresses go to collect moss.
i lift stones to reveal families 
of whirling bugs drunk on chemicals. 
across the surface
all kinds of spheres are floating:
golf balls & basket balls 
& soccer balls. any circle can hatch
into a creature if you give it enough 
attention. i watch as they open 
to reveal dragonflies as large as 
oven mitts. i wonder how big the animal
inside the moon is & if i alone
could bring it forth into 
the watery night. i count my fingers.
four on each hand. i am dripping blue.
my eyes turn into cue balls.
i am ready to be struck. i need to 
remind myself to tip the Uber--
tip him well. i appreciate a driver
who does not try to pry me open.
i roll down a window. there is 
no car just a headlight's fading stare.
how dare you wonder
where are we? location is 
the most important thing to pin down.
i have tacks in my pocket 
which i press into the grass.
the golf men are glowing. 
if i had any gold-- any gold at all
i would use it to arrive
on my dad's porch. i would bring
a mouth full of lake 
& spit it all out at his feet 
until our yard stung.
a great bowl of pear juice.
i bleed nectar lately. i have 
a small cut on my index finger
i sip quietly from. there was 
a piece of gold once. 
i hold my breath at the bottom 
of the lake hoping to see it grin
like a lost tooth.