scaffolding.

 
the headline reads:  the careless people won.
his last notification burns salt in the wound
                    where are you taking that emptiness?
 
the collective bond to injury,
whether band aids or bond maids
the most advanced gentlemen
have fumbled the best prizes
the most honorable men
have still not met themselves
as deeply as they have been met
 
we have seen them lurking
in dark alleys, on the stand, on the bench
six feet under ground, we have loved them
we have loved them. despite themselves.
we have covered our drinks
held our keys like claws
we have been their whore and
          their stopgap strumpet
 
the headlines do not read: the magic of love
the beauty of climbing inside
their chest after encountering oneself
honestly, clearly, respectfully
 
the mothers have forgotten who
they could have been
we have been fumbled, we have been left
we have written this poem a thousand times
holding the bag.                                                         left holding the bag. 

© 5.28.25 heather brager  

surface skimming.

when the light is low 

and hazy, the hum of 

voices soaked with drink,
vague gyrations of laughter, gazes
merging would-be lovers, body heat
fondling paramours in mutual exchange,
hands caressing across the table
without fingers touching, the
earnest purls of expectation
slowly pulsing to the top,
charybdis is stirring 

in silent corroboration, 

diving down deep with

reciprocation, scheming 

to close the deal 

before last call

heather brager © 3.13.2025

just kill me now.

it is 3:00 a.m. again
and the surgeon general 
reports that loneliness is 
an american epidemic

the words spell 
public health crisis
they say isolation
is killing us all, it is
stealthily hunting me

I try to tell you in one 
hundred ways that I 
am starting to die, my
body a quivering bird 
in your cupped hands 

the absence of your 
breath is equivalent to 
the impact of smoking 
15 cigarettes per day

I no longer remember
the way to explain
how this mosaic heart 
fits perfectly in your palms

© 01/19/2025 heather brager

when you are not.

when you are absurdly 

non-judgmental and 

the space 

you hold is sacred 

and true and vast 

when you are an open 

wound the size of 

a glacier before 

years of heat  

and you still try

without hesitation 

when you have hands 

of magic and know 

where pain lurks

to softly grant her 

the grace to escape

when you are scared 

and do it anyway

give everything they ever

wanted and still 

you are not her 

 

© 7.6.24 heather brager

use me.

I have never really
been ornamental.

sure, porcelain. 

shiny pennies.

dewy sunlight, 

jingling between your

fingers. but what 

purpose is this 

tenderness, this 

sharpened wit, 

this mischievous 

insight, eyes that peer 

through you to 

your hidden core.

sure it’s beautiful, but

when will it be useful 

right, or wrong.

how many times 

have I been left 

holding the bag

holding the empty.

fucking.

bag.

how many

times have I been right

how many times

did I trudge through 

the motions, our emotions 

because I did not trust 

an inner voice

telling me to leave

how much of the 

purest love and

coveted hours

have been wasted  

since you 

told me that

closed mouthes 

don’t get fed

how many lies 

have you told

yourself while we

peered deep 

inside each 

other’s minds 

how many times 

did our eyes lock

on the right 

timeline

how many times

have you martyred

yourself to an 

imaginary construct  

instead of doing right

by me. 

how many times 

will you miss 

me while turning left

instead of right. 

 © 5.10.24 heather brager

like minds.

I have never 

been so alone 

as when I told you 

what I needed 

and you said 

you understood.

the space I haunt  

longs for nothing 

but presence, and still 

you choose fear.

if our tongues had 

not touched

or the contrast 

of our skin bent under 

the pressure of our 

fingertips 

if it was only 

our minds 

that touched,

only our minds. 

you deliberately left 

me alone when you knew 

loneliness was 

hunting me down.

you ran her errands, answered 

a few calls, picked up dinner,

smoked without calling,

slept next to her.

 

I have never been 

so alone as when 

we touched minds. 

 © 4.07.24 - heather brager