beach house for snakes

let's take a get away. let's buy
the teeth they had in the window.
i have a suitcase full of mirrors,
all of the broken. a fractured moon.
let's bring the spare limbs tonight.
not to alarm you but there are
less & less summers every time you
go out to the tree house. the snakes
buried their legs to use later.
for when time comes apart
like the lips of an orange. lobe by lobe.
we stayed there once. sand in our mouths.
at night, the storms would 
shake every tree. fruit falling like fists.
i held my breath for the whole week.
a light house in the closet.
i sliced it cucumber-wise. no more fur.
no more fire, just the tongue
jumping rope in the hallway.
every draw was full of shed skins.
the snakes, somewhere else. 
always somewhere else. i covered my eyes.
drank nothing but cranberry juice.
we could get away. my mother was 
a disciple of the get away. she said,
"here is our sea shell life." my skin softer
than ever before. freckles farmed 
from breath & rain. i'm going to stay
the night if you promise to stay awake
until i fall asleep. nightlight. doorknob.
the snakes, drinking pina coladas
underneath a plastic palm tree.
we are in a new kind of folding.
the highways turn accordion. 
we miss our turn. end up at the dead end
where hope meets beet greens.
my fingers turn purple. i shave my head.
everyone goes back without me.