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

9.13.12

the creditors bark

there is little else to say

it is september

© 9.13.12 heather brager

9.11.12

he won’t look at you
the voice, curdled milk
sloshing down the hallway
the message distorted and limp
you wait for a backward glance
gulp the tepid coffee
and look away

© 9.11.12 heather brager

verity.

she aspired to be mysterious
when she became a grown up

with the soundtrack of a sleuth and the power
of clever and deductive reasoning
her intellect would overshadow all residual prettiness
that they said she inherited from her mother

the little girl in dirty jeans, ponytail and sneakers
her father's tattered books under her arm
would blend into the city swarms

(already she could mingle with the backyard murder of crows
and squish beneath the ferns with a knot of toads)

at family reunions, relatives said that she
could become anything she wanted and
they would chuckle when she told them
she wanted to be an archeologist
a fighter pilot, or a famous architect

she would uncover history, make history
build something from the ground up

(she would leave that town)

so tightly holding a number two pencil
reading each question suspiciously
she filled in the rows of little circles
her lungs stretched, waiting to find out
who she was supposed to become

when her scores were added and totaled
she frowned when she was told
that she was an artist


© 9.10.12 heather brager