dragon egg

i never intended to find the hoard.
my mother sharpens her knives
while she sits at the kitchen table.
our ceiling fills with beliefs. a bed frame
turns into an alarm clock.
i lay there & wait to be carried
by my scruff into the closet again.
i come to collect hearts. anyones but my own.
here is a bat's heart & a wolf's heart
& a deer's heart. flowers grow
where my eyes should be. our bodies
find all kinds of ways to protect themselves.
at times i have grown scales & others,
a layer of downy fur across my stomach.
i showed it to my mother 
who shaved it off & saved it in a jar.
burried the jar alongside all of the others.
the daffodils tell me to crawl along the ground.
i cut my fingers on beer bottles 
& meteors. finally then a tiny nest.
the eggs are smaller than i thought they'd be.
god instructs me to eat them.
swallow the dragon & survive. 
they glow in their pill bottles.
submarines. eject buttons. my bones
are the longest high ways. a gas station blossoms
on my sternum. let's not pretend
we believed in monsters. we knew.