In The Days

Alexandria Petrassi


In the days of my father’s sweet whiskey smoke
we sat in the doorway to watch the burning. 

I lusted after those bourbon-thick clouds
like a dark crescendo. An acceleration, 

a desire to rust, a still rush in my stomach
to reap seeds I had not sown. 

My brother sat in the cusp of the door, cradled
and always rocking, rocking and afraid to breathe. 

A car might creak over the gravel. Searching.
My father’s slow predatory stalk. A lapse. 

Cruel is a word with rocks in its mouth.
It was never right for us to say. 

In the days after my father’s burning, even then,
he had the continual air of a man smoking.



Alexandria Petrassi studies poetry in the MFA program at George Mason University. She works as the Assistant Editor at "So to Speak", the editor-in-chief of "Floodmark", and a Digital Communications consultant. Her work has appeared in "The Seldom Review", on The American Writer’s Museum’s blog, and on Stillhouse Press’s blog, "Moonshine Murmurs". 

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