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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. 

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

a love poem.

when we spoke late that night
my voice the unfurling little frond
your words wrapped in cumulus clouds

I commented on your lack of accent

you drove for hours on
the day that my hot hands
smelled of garlic and finely minced shallots
freshly washed sheets on the bed
with a hint of delicious night
it was 98 degrees in the shade

you acted as if you weren’t afraid
were we as absolute as the sky?
you pretended I didn’t scare you half to death

the morning you drove east
oxygen crept slowly from every room
slipped from under the doorways
the barometric pressure drew me to the floor

I can’t remember if I asked you to come back

when we spoke late that night
my voice the branch and yours the vapor
we were actors and thieves
adding the seconds to moments

we didn’t fathom broken glass 

© 12.1.2015 heather brager


  1. Redolent, and filled with tactile pleasure. My weary body felt a spurt of life.

  2. There are two kinds of closure.
    One is the kind you see coming, from a distance...