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Poetry

Kailey Tedesco

My Ghost Attached itself to My Voice, Left Me

there goes my little echo:
liberated trapper-

keeper, snapped-cord
payphone breasting

all red ruby with
slippers up to my neck

& i say there is no place
like home / / there is  

no place like
home / / there, there  

poor dear

clairvoyants hand
out shimmer stickers

if you say you
saw that ghost!

i come up often
at garden parties – pull out

my wedding dress
like a parlor trick

& there i traipse by
in a deck

of cards –  body
spoiled rotten

on a glass
table, body

in a sick robe
of starlight.

 

My Ouija Says I’ll Be a Hollywood Girl

 

Everyone I meet has a circus tent-
shaped tongue

wide open & I hear it loudly –

Judy Garland humming
to peat moss weaved across
her elbows like afterbirth.

I hear pianos, too,
sweating & panting

until I’m hot with the velvet
of my own horoscope.

I was taught to fear,
but subscribe to method –

touch-me-spotlights over
plastic leaves conceive me.

My Eye, Haunted by a Rag Time Girl

 

            in a gas mask – jazz-age roaches swarm
over cold tea at the witching hour.

Her beaded gown trails over my cornea,
gulping sobs spiral from each pupil –

I don’t know which tears are mine. I’m reminded
of the bomb-crumbs. My lids close & I feel

the pulse of old gramophones keeping
me up all night with ectoplasm sleep-

sand & my iris a planchette
she twitches over time.

If I could bring myself to blink,
she might finally die.


Kailey Tedesco is a poet, the editor-in-chief of Rag Queen Periodical, a staff writer for Luna Luna Magazine, and a member of the Poetry Brothel. Her full-length collection, She Used to be on a Milk Carton (April Gloaming Publications) is forthcoming. For more, visit kaileytedesco.com

Emily Corwin