Dragon Eggs

I have been swallowing dragon eggshells for ever since I could remember;

collecting their vacated hulls in the pockets of my dress,

immersing my hands in spumous water to gently purge them clean,

lining them up like a rock collection along the sills;

and with a jade stone, grinding them to dust,

snorting them up like a tonic of all the things I wasn’t;

agitating them into the mashed potatoes

and spoon-feeding it to the ulcer in my side

that screamed when it’s drug ran dry.

But today,

I do not find new ways to clean, break, and cook dragon eggshells,

I do not find new ways to swallow them;

today,

I cease trying to become the thing I am not,

and become the thing that I am;

I line up the dragon eggs like God lined the mountains along the horizon,

I command the dragons to life like a director commands a thousand voices to rise,

and they all call me by my name:

mother, mother, mother.

-anna sluder