MUSICAL Poem: Rosemary Baby, by Kelsey Kessler

We have to talk about the movie Rosemary’s Baby
If you have never seen it
Here is the sparknotes version
Newlywed couple, rosemary and guy
Move into a new apartment
Waiting to have her baby

her husband
brings in a witch doctor
Assures her
this is real medical care
As The rest of her neighbors are gaslighting her
Forcing her to digest these weird drinks
We wonder which characters
Will cage her body autonomy in this screenplay
As if her body isn’t already paranoia
Oh and get this
They lie to her.
They tell her she had a stillbirth
when in reality she gave birth to the antichrist.

And one time
my grandmother was watching this movie
Said
How her and rosemary
are on in the same.
How there is a type of ambiance this movie gives her
The comfort knowing when the credits start rolling.
This fictional story will come
to a fleeting halt
Cinematography amputated

But the real horror begins
When women walk down her own nightmare on elm street
Flips her bear spray like a switchblade
so no Freddy Kruger tries to create her
into a final girl.

So Everytime
I sit on a doctors examination table
Physicians Puppet teer my body in any direction
Why is it I feel so seen in a character
that was made in 1968 when it is year 2025
How long will I stare into rosemary’s screams
before I stop seeing my own

cinematic universe where cycle of violence is
a plot point
Screenwriter uses assault as world building tactic
How many directors will use storytelling
to discuss survivors
Only to be exposed as perpetrator of violence
As persiste academy awards title them as victor
Instead of abuser
Is my pain is good enough for a film bros aesthetic
Yet Not enough to be believed in this lifetime

Im sitting in a doctors office
Frankensteining the witch doctors disguise off
Reaveling how politicians are the real villains the entire time
Body autonomy is met with fear tactics and apathy
So terrified of movements
They fantasize about there own prophecies
One
Where they Vote the rights away.

If my grandmother were to be reincarnated as my daughter
She would be marching for rights she did in a past life
Would her soul recognize rosemary’s hysteria
Would her feet recognize the march’s of ages
how many women’s reflection is seen in the screen
how much hell can a holy body hold