Choices.

Every day we experience the opportunity to make important choices in our lives and the lives of the people we love.  We choose how to respond to events that affect us, both minor and catastrophic.  We also choose what we will allow to impact us and our families, positively and negatively.

During the days since the tragedy in Connecticut, we have read a plethora of misinformation and incorrect “facts” and statistics from the general public and our sensationalized media.  We have witnessed boundless anger and retaliatory rhetoric tossed back and forth, even among “friends.”  We have seen and read raw and frantic political fanaticism.  We have also watched numerous heartfelt exchanges of honesty and pure, vulnerable strength and compassion.

It is so simple a concept, yet we as a modern culture are still so hasty to blame, lash out with anger and hatred, “tell it like it is,” and make broad, generalized statements that often skip right over the humans we say that we are so insistent on protecting.  We bend the truth to fit our agenda and skip to policy that we only think we understand.  We are so quick to tell everyone how to immediately “fix” the problems that are flashed across our computer and television screens, and yet, we are absolutely unwilling to do what is actually necessary to safeguard our very own evolution.

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him.  We need not wait to see what others do.”  Gandhi

For those of you who have taken the time to get to know me personally, you know of the challenges I have navigated over the past few years.  During that time, I have learned that sheltering my children from everything that is happening is not a productive way to teach them about real life.  I have cried in front of my boys, I have told them I didn't have the answer but would do the very best I could, and I have led by example by allowing them to witness my resolve, over and over again.  

So I choose honesty.  

I choose authenticity, accountability and integrity.   It is my hope to instill in my children the very same attributes, and to arm them with a diverse skill set to confront their fears openly, to recognize and ask for what they need, and to extend love and compassion to others in need.  I choose not to assume I have the power to fix massive, broken systems, but to focus on what is important in my life, right now.   I have learned that lesson well.

Today, it was important to sit outside in my car for fifteen extra minutes to allow my boys to tell me what they felt was important to say.  I laughed with them and when they left to go to school, we said "I love you."   I choose to be the change I want to see.

What do you choose? 

12.6.2012

the sky is holding

we see it:  the impending

it comes down to this

© 12.6.12 heather brager

four incomplete memories.

it was most likely a holiday, as

she stood over the kitchen counter

bending forward to sip a glass of warm

pinkish liquid from a crystal wine glass

her hair was dyed almost black

and had lost its youthful shine

when she inhaled, the ember

of her cigarette shone hot amber,

just enough to force her pale lip gloss

to shimmer for a few seconds

his clothes were normally coated in dust

sometimes he clutched a tattered

comic book and his black finger nails

followed the words

as if he was actually reading them

he taunted the boys behind him

in the padded, torn green seats

until one day the red haired boy

took a swing and knocked his eyeglasses

onto the slippery bus floor

he was lying there, carefully unobtrusive

in a cold, dim room that stank

of urine and bleach

his hands were shaking slightly

the aquamarine colored blood

tenderly protruding through the veil

of transparent skin that was

carefully stretched over his bones

reminded her of

a hotel swimming pool

the weeds and wildflowers

grew above her head

even when she stood on her tip toes,

she could not see the cars that made

the rushing sound out on the road

she held a handful of mayflowers

and sniffed them periodically

with simple pleasure, and

when she returned to the house

she would put them in a glass of water

and leave them on the kitchen table

© 12.4.12 heather brager

providence.

there is a yellow home

three proud stories with painted gingerbread

that waits patiently for her

leaning quietly and sighing through the seasons

it watches the random gene of bravery

that nudges her along in a warped plane

a careful but curious overlap of realities

she can understand the creaks of boards

that speak to her soundlessly through the ether

she contemplates another woman's memories

that have set up camp in her head, while

she dreams awake through her daily life

and waiting at traffic lights

in another world that is miles or years away

from the black and white cat

who bends slowly around her ankles

whiskers whispering in the sunlit kitchen

speaking the familiar synergy

that she wonders how

she can understand

© 11.27.12 heather brager

11.20.12

we have come miles now
seasons revolve within us
we won’t hibernate

© 11.20.12 heather brager

scenery and a soundtrack.

she was in the south, the dry flanks echoing

stretching inside-out on all sides

birds of prey and iridescent clouds losing altitude

lucinda williams in the speakers

and emptiness in her palms

she was that eagle flying east and west

the midwest stretching lazily beneath her

speaking through the voice of bob dylan in the earbuds

stirring her to dream of the deciduous trees

and trilliums that raised her

she was consumed by the promise of the sea

the urban rhythms and city lights

heels in alleyways and over cobblestones

slaid cleaves on the stage and this man beside her

stirring optimism in her glass

© 11.16.12 heather brager

a new day.

there it is, seeping
the wounds and light are the same
we are transforming

© 11.13.12 heather brager

a promise.

it is not a wonder, you

ceased hearing

the sweeping hush of green boughs

outside the window

as the cities

and faces click by, you

lurch toward the guard rails

press against a bitter wind,

wish to rest your eyes

you visualize the frayed edges

of this mislaid joy, the time

when you could bend down

and lift promises to your chest

it is not a wonder, in this

world you molded,

the perspective to lose

has been lost

in the continuum 

© 11.8.12 heather brager

the real question.

who is she
if not
your keeper
a shell that you carefully
prepare each day
protecting you
from the elements
you wrap her
in undergarments
dresses, coats, socks and shoes
you offer food to pad her
from the unavoidable
guide her
down hallways
and through
doorways
through weeks
months
years

to your
inevitable end


© 10.29.12 heather brager

it doesn't add up.

are you even here, or just
a phantom of this life

merging in and out
of mundane weeks

leaving and arriving with the
same acerbic vigor

you are dragging figures,
pounding on locked doors

crushing a crumpled dollar bill
in your cold, bruised fist


© 10.23.12 heather brager

10.22.12

you open your eyes  at 4:19 a.m. and despite your desperate blinks,

the ceiling is covered in shadows, the kind that watch you while you sleep.

with your mind, you command them to leave you the fuck alone

but they just flicker and shift, flicker and shift …  flicker and shift.

you drag your ass out of bed to find the windshield a half inch thick with frost

not delicate etchings, but a coating of super glue ice that won’t scrape off

even after twelve minutes of full blast defrost, you are still shivering on the side street

you remind yourself to buy some gloves the next time you get paid, but you will forget

© 10.22.12 heather brager

mid-october.

it spoke to me
as if I was that lost little girl
her ear pressed against the wind
standing alone and lithe
on a wheat colored hillside
this time, facing south
with a promise of change
murmuring over her like
thousands of blackbirds
bending the air,
dipping to reach her
to touch her face
beneath last season’s corn


© 10.9.12 heather brager

outlier.

an entity
the categories
constructed of neurons
sixty chemical elements
the human form of
flesh and bone
cartilage and fluids

what they hope
with the astonishing
intellect comprised
of intricate
isometric equations
in carefully measured
formulas

among them all
she remains
the synonym of
protector, the
reckless bard
a strumpet, girl


© 10.9.12 heather brager

a dichotomy.

with her gaze fixed on
their shoes, souls
both of her hands
grasping a coffee cup as if it
could get away

murmurs shift, the
severe depth, her pupils

a subtle transfer toward the
faces of the women
droning softly on the sofa
one shadowy, the other
opposing the painting behind her
on the color wheel

she speaks to herself, recalling
the beauty of contrast

comfort in the facts, and
solace in the pattern

her own shadow
on the plaster walls



© 9.27.12 heather brager

don't quit your day job.

you are trying to say something

you write words through your fingers

in between meetings

and confirmation phone calls

you scribble lines on a paper towel

standing at the bathroom sink

you don’t want to forget

what you were thinking

you have a collection of post-it notes

your own 3M rainbow

on your desk and

the dashboard of your cluttered car

you just know it was important

you may have written something profound

a brand new concept

the world’s greatest poem

but that post-it is stuck to some woman’s shoe

as she walks to the bathroom

with her pen in hand

© 9.26.12 heather brager

9.18.12

a hidden nadir

the rabbit holes are miles deep

they sweep the front step

© 9.18.12 heather brager