Lizzie, Speak

Kailey Tedesco

 

 

what is left blooms to the ceiling by the nose 

of a kettle – when the room becomes flocked, snip

 

hedges to swans, apply pressure to sundials & check

for a pulse, make spectacles. what is left has no steam 

 

left beneath shell-breasts & fins. it is all an act, for certain –

monkey glued fish gaffs or perspiring amethyst. climb 

 

to opposite dives. chlorine shock wires the tile arterial. what is left

touches at weather, knows a secret that i do not & now i must 

 

practice my single-white-female. what is left is either sartorial

or floral: ruffles mussed to shape or lilacs gone miserable. 

 

we all still have our fingernails of plastic. what is left suffocates

inside an heirloom locket, contorted wrist to elbow,

 

knee to hip, hair plaited tight with ribbon. i father-son-holy

spirit my forehead. what is left is not much, but when 

 

spilled will surely speak contusions. 

 

 

 

 


Kailey Tedesco is the author of She Used to be on a Milk Carton (April Gloaming Publishing) and These Ghosts of Mine, Siamese (Dancing Girl Press). Her manuscript entitled Lizzie, Speak recently won White Stag Publishing's full-length poetry contest. She is the editor-in-chief of Rag Queen Periodical and an associate editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Grimoire, Phoebe Journal, Sugar House Review, American Chordata, and more. For further information, please visit kaileytedesco.com.

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