My photo

"Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard." Anne Sexton 

Heather Brager is a critically acclaimed juggler of calamity, an accomplished procrastinator, and shuffler of idioms. Her poetry and drawings can be found in various digital and print journals around the globe, and on the web.  She currently resides in New England and prefers the precipice of where the Atlantic meets the sand to the official looking office where she spends most of her time. 

Saturday, April 7, 2018

magic and lipstick.

she finds herself 
again, seared open, 
tender enchantment  
standing solitary 
in the corner 
she finds her 
skin is still soft
hair still falls carefully 
over shoulders and 
arms angled 
gentle like hooks 
for capture, 
weapons to love
with burning 
that can only 
disqualify her

she finds herself 
again and again
hands empty, blue 
wide open, putting 
lipstick back on, and
that bra, those boots,
the mask that will be 
thrown aside next 
week, or next year
again, uncovered 

and she feels 
the magic before 
it enters the room, 
after it has faded 
away, again and again
disbelief turned to
emptiness, possibility 
left smoldering
then gone tepid,
the lost and the
found, and lost again

© 4.7.2018 heather brager

Monday, March 19, 2018


daylight slips across the smudged
walls of an empty room, when you find
yourself twisted in an echo, afraid of north and
dragging south, when your entire life is
at your feet, two pieces of stone abandoned
under her pillows, when another year
presses your skin with fierce fingertips, her magic
will fall softly parallel to another, when you
tell yourself you are a solitary being,
she will still send you pale light with
hints of sandalwood and lavender

© 3.19.2018 heather brager

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

the healer.

please lean in
bend down gently my
beautiful apparition, our
adverse complements
lurk deep within a
story that neither
can amend

leave it there, or give
it back, but let me in

now I am crawling through
the damp lines, licking your
voice as I slide down
your throat, I am  
curling around
your solitary heart

© 3.6.2018 heather brager

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

falling, short.

too many midnights
recalculating the
balance of fear
over devotion,
totaling fragmented
panic minus
affection, the delta of
my heart in
your hands

© 2.14.2018 heather brager

Chiara Bautista.

Monday, February 5, 2018

contemplation with a ghost.

did you try not to flicker, an apparition coasting with his
hand pressed over hers, morning sun reflecting
off the Zakim bridge and she, wondering if you
were still hovering on the outside, peering in at strangers

night after night she bent beside you, a lamp
quietly illuminating a corner of the room, she
would watch your mouth, wondering if those words
were for her, or someone you had lost years before

she handed you the key without pretense, though
abuse is a vigilant perpetrator, and how could she
ever take back your childhood, how could she
ever wring out the darkness that lay within your bones

who do you miss when you look in the mirror, beautiful
man she loves still, broken fragments of a man once loved,
the remnants of something forgiven, or something
abandoned at the curb where you left her that night

© 2.5.2018 heather brager

Antony Micallef .

Monday, January 22, 2018

bend like a willow.

with an echo in the chamber
let go of loss, its empty space is not
a foundation, the notches carved
across your breastbone are not
the only way to hold space

dispel the value you have
tied to his verses, his mouth will tell
tales, memories will twist knots
around your wrists, the spaces between
will creak and moan with each exhale

stop leaving breadcrumbs
let him find his own way, tracing back
from north to south, you were not his
woman standing in the doorway, as the
moon dove deep inside the mirror

© 1.22.2018 heather brager

Zdzisław Beksiński

Saturday, January 6, 2018

breathing flora.

in a dream I 
planted a lily 
at the bottom of 
the sea, with pale 
cupped hands, I gently 
placed her roots 
beneath the 
shifting sand, dark 
water churned against
my skin under light 
refracting from 
above, and I awoke 
to drowning 
before it had a 
chance to bloom

© 1.6.2018 heather brager