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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. 

Friday, March 30, 2012

a moment near cooper park.

sapphire black
ethereal, the lilt

two worlds transposed
and the currents coil
with inhalation, on muted wings

thrusting ahead, luminous
lucid irises rest, sifting
through pictures

eyelids closed, she exhales
and silently alights

© 3.30.12 heather brager

Thursday, March 29, 2012

small town bliss.

I try not to visibly wince
as my eyes wrestle against
tracking the faux-blonde
as she bobbles and sways
across the floor
a cheap demonstration
with men stupidly ogling
her tacky heels clacking in time
with the jangle
of the gold tone buckles
on her leopard print bag
the size of Toledo
I recognize her stale perfume
it hovers above the
smell of roast coffee
mother of the little snot nosed brat
who spat at my son
last week on the playground
I know her Escalade is parked out front
boxing in my car
and I’ll try not to leave
black paint on her bumper

© 3.29.12 heather brager

Saturday, March 24, 2012

march 19.

hope is a four letter word.

your fingerprints on my lens
I don't wipe it clean
a soft blur as I stare down

nectarine vapor cotton

the sun is setting on us again
behind the earth
the same sun you cursed all day

I consider a fall
jackknifing toward the ground
wet with clouds on my flesh

you are afraid to look up.


the tangerine sun
above blankets of vapor
my life diverted


a glint on the wing
frost frames the world through plastic
leaving you behind


© 3.24.12 heather brager

Wednesday, March 14, 2012


she watches the envelope slide
into the mailbox
dirty blue metal, screwed down tight
she imagines the wind catching the paper
and she holds on between her fingers and palm
planning the path it would take

a paper airplane, an air stream
the romanticism of the pony express
pounding across the high plains but no,

just some tractor trailer rolling along
down a dusty highway
between cities, middle America

she climbs back into the car
a short drive across town to
find a hot cup of coffee
she will make it through the afternoon

Miles Davis playing
melancholy, chaotic poetry
with broken cadence, often
barely rhythmic

she memorizes the score
driving too slowly
studying patterns of shifting
Cirrus arrangements across the sky
the blue breaking through

© 3.14.12 heather brager

march 14.

March 14 by Ms. Americano on Grooveshark

Thursday, March 8, 2012

march 8.

words on the pages
they spell care and compassion
not deceitfulness

we can delete them
the pencil can be erased
but that look cannot

© 3.8.12 heather brager

waning gibbous.

the sun is fuming
flaring fountains of crimson
the moon is silent

© 3.8.12 heather brager

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

march 7.

the magpies are
performing for spring

I see a storm rising just west
of the Tobacco Root range

I am always looking
some other direction

and they never listen
to what I am thinking

© 3.7.12 heather brager

(music for that kind of day...)

March 1 by Ms. Americano on Grooveshark

Friday, March 2, 2012

beyond her years.

she places her freckled hands in her lap
while you try to avert your eyes
the clear light shines off of glass
through the open window
onto her shoulder, the fluid strands of hair

she is a good little girl, properly behaved
her back straight and both feet
firmly planted on the ground
your face searches her features

a royal iris, an unyielding structure
she is a sage, a clever young bird
graceful and subtle
wearing cotton and a ponytail

you suddenly understand
that she can see right through you

she is delicate like concrete
you are timid and pliable
and she already knows you
as she grins at your innocence

© 3.2.12 heather brager