parenting from the slow lane.

please stop panicking
the debate is broadcasted
what time is the bus


© 10.31.2014 heather brager 

excavation.

the house is quiet before dawn

ashes in the fireplace 

and remnants of dinner in the sink

tepid glass of diluted scotch on the coffee table

I reach out to touch the wilting flowers

coffee is beginning to brew while

I stoop and peer upward

millions of stars and the same black sky

for a moment I forget where I am

I am climbing a tree before sunrise

listening for the coyotes

I am 2300 miles away, running at 4:00 a.m.

icy air biting my face and  hands

I am driving 65 mph south to Boston

lost in the sea of banality

and the clock continues to tick

I check the time and exhale

the quarry is loneliness

as I pour your cup of coffee

I wonder if a light will be on upstairs

and why we try to kill each other

before we kill ourselves

© 10.27.2014 heather brager  

pisces.

in an epoch when

she is imprisoned under ice

radiance washes over her from

a leaden and silent expanse above

hair pouring outward

framing a pallid expression

no longer composed

of resistance and fear of flight

her life of faint sketches on pages

fingerprints near the exits

the collapsing words

of unwritten memoirs

dissipating into murky green

© 10.7.2014 heather brager