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.