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"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. 

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

Monday, November 20, 2017

love as metaphor.

these flowers we prune,

water, expose to the light,

then string up to die


© 11.20.2017 heather brager

Friday, November 3, 2017

aurora, aurora.


lent to the autumn
gusts, jeweled trees
murmuring truth under
an expectant moon, months
pregnant with probability, rich with
faltering grace, left tangled
in silent spells and threats of
darkness on their heels, oh
breathe, breathe the absence 
hunted and held down
by a silky dawn

they are filling their
cups, hands in milk and
honey, palms upturned
to a charlatan, piercing
all directions at once
aurora, aurora
the truth north, the
transformation a
lightening birth



© 11.3.2017 heather brager


Tatiana Plakhova.

Friday, October 13, 2017

October, begin.

and just like that, all of the endings were
drawn to sea, imaginary burdens pulled deep
under the morning tide as it succumbed to
the shoreline, unlimited power sucked against
my boots, with both feet firmly planted, the sun
finally reached me, warming my skin and hair

and what if truth is actually universal, love
synonymous with struggle the grandiose lie, what 
if pain and sacrifice were only fear hunting me 
down, dimming my irises to pale, sharpening
each edge to arm me against my own quiet
nakedness, my own space under a vacant sky


© 10.13.2017 heather brager