(safe house)

by V. Brancazio

I almost burnt our safe house down

slathering the walls in charred haze landlord’s paint
My eyes were off the stove for a second
before dinner caught on fire

It’s too warm outside.
the world is a winter bonfire

I never listened to talks of rapture

Too busy staring up at the stained glass wondering when the chandelier would inevitably
collapse on the congregation leaving me to be the only survivor.

the priest made his rounds | with blessings of smoke and prayer but

I never learned the symbolism behind gold bells
I hate the smell of neglected ash

I don’t know how to store the remains
of half used joints / torched tortillas / broken candle wicks / time wasted

wishing on moonlight when I cannot see the stars

So I went to bed.
The odor still lingered in the morning.

V. Brancazio is a poet and theatre artist currently based in the Greater Boston Area. Originally from Chapel Hill, NC, V. graduated from Emerson College in 2018 with a BFA in Acting and Theatre Education. Their written work can be found in Constellations Lit Mag, The Thing Itself, and in their self-published zine BREAK: Stories of Feeling Too Much. V.'s theatrical work is primarily focused on new play development and V. has worked with companies such as Sparkhaven Theatre, Fresh Ink Theatre, and Strange News theatre. They are a member of StageSource’s Gender Explosion and seek to create a more gender-diverse and trans-inclusive theatre. You can find V. on both Twitter and Instagram @BrnczV. To view their work, visit: victoriabrancazio.com