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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. 

Thursday, September 27, 2012

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

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

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

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


a hidden nadir
the rabbit holes are miles deep
they sweep the front step

© 9.18.12 heather brager

Thursday, September 13, 2012


the creditors bark
there is little else to say
it is september

© 9.13.12 heather brager

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


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

Monday, September 10, 2012


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