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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. 

Monday, December 29, 2014

gravity always wins.




pluck the imitation bird from the branches
with stinging fingers,
smelling sickeningly of flowers

the tentative winter, wretched and floundering
clips your wings and the decrepit limbs
cracking loose, losing only to reach skyward

slumped low, sewing unbearable wounds
to wounds, and to the wounds
breathing fetid and discarded things
we walk away from ourselves
a recurrence, the approaching
steps echoing through a hallway
with a likeness of the way out,

just pluck me from the branch.


© 12.29.2014 heather brager 

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

slip knot.



this is who you are
we paint colors on the walls
your blood, or the sun


© 12.16.2014 heather brager 




Tuesday, November 25, 2014

...


playing our song.



you are a forgotten verdict
the familiar place for a pessimist
you fondle our dissonance
like a naked talisman

my lexis bent in your hand
left against my teeth
echoes from dusty rooms
that I am worthless and weary

we sweep up the glass
ruins in incoherent fragments
the years writhe into idioms
as I drive against the wind


© 11.25.2014 heather brager  

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

evanesce.



the fields below are empty
the sound of high prairie
and faraway birds
               sifting
                       sifting
words and steps are muffled
on another frozen landscape

her face and her limbs
are hovering above sparkling soil
over the tops of dead wildflowers
with eyes closed and chin tilted skyward
listening for an ounce of truth

now the streets are mostly vacant
faint murmurs of pedestrians
finding their way to daybreak
she looks to see them vanish 
            and reappear
                        into doorways



© 11.11.2014 heather brager  

Monday, November 3, 2014

life without parole.




these promises are
run-on sentences to yourself
slinking through one ear
and out the other
the time you owe
constructed of inconsistencies
and regurgitated regret

how far you have come
in an effort to warrant
the quivering fabrications
that you refuse to own

slitting your own throat will
prove misfortune is hunting you down
armed and foaming at 
the mouth, clutching an 
already bloodied knife 

© 11.3.2014 heather brager