Poetry By Kailey Tedesco

Gabriela Camerotti


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Clairvoyance

Stitched wounds fruit-bruise & the bodies
of parents overnight the dining table.
I once ate a bowl of porridge, raisin-lit,
between my father’s knees. His belly-wound
star-gaped & licked a fortune lipped with beeswax
vaseline breaths like anemones. My supper danced
exotic & I exorcized my clothing, kimono-stroked
my shoulders, let velvet bend spirits from
the blood, make witchcakes. This midwifery,
harvesting ghosts from the holes that caused them,
has left me open for too long.

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Legerdemain

Little girls under the age of 12 can teach their muscles to be ghosts. Lift & drop a foot without
leaving the ground. Snap a finger backwards from within the skin. My grandmother used to tell
us to be quiet. Locked the door and said she’d be back. Someone is in the house. I heard noises.
Pots & pans falling down stairwells. Gasps like tea kettles. She returns. A gerbil on her wrist,
biting at her fingers. Biting & biting as she strokes its head with her other hand. No one is here
but us. It must have been the storm. We saw the ghosts. We stay quiet. 


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Bio: Kailey Tedesco is the author of These Ghosts of Mine, Siamese (Dancing Girl Press) and the forthcoming collection, She Used to be on a Milk Carton (April Gloaming Publishing). She is the editor-in-chief of Rag Queen Periodical and a staff writer for Luna Luna Magazine. She also performs with the Poetry Brothel. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Prelude, Prick of the Spindle, OCCULUM, Flapperhouse, and more. For other information, please visit kaileytedesco.com. 
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