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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. 

Friday, February 19, 2016


I wake slowly to Chet Baker, the
sullen notes sliding against the walls
through the emptiness of rooms,
sweeping past my cheek at daybreak

I have written these poems,
hundreds of times
reliving our demise and rebirth
another drawing, ouroboros
there is your left eye, my hair
in sunlight, the scar
on your wrist, your lips

even when you slept next to me
you drove east, dragging
my heart behind your car, the
Bridgers in your rear view mirror,
deceit and worship swimming
in your mouth like eels

crossing Lake Street I glance to the sky
through branches, a pair of ravens
I want them to tell me why, my feet
in rhythm on the snow and ice
restructuring the shards you left me

© 2.19.2016 heather brager

Thursday, February 18, 2016


in the scarlet moment of drowning
when I inhale, gasp, inhale
exhale, repeat
in the matter of what seems a second

you are unaware of your cold fingers
the dull ache, the firm grasp, the
loss tangled within my hair
clutching my face and neck
your fingers no longer entwined
in my empty hands

peering down at my body
a pale shadow drifting through dusk
I doubt our existence and
beauty, tranquil limbs
a gentle heap of weightless bones
paralysis, the immeasurable silence
before surfacing will save me

© 2.18.2016 heather brager

Thursday, February 4, 2016


through smudged windows, looking northward
over damp landscapes swathed in nightfall
the eye of the mind knows the heart, and
she knows you from another time, a
recollection beneath chasms of flame
ardor pulled tight to your chest, the brazen words
parting quietly with lilies in the morning mist, a
wandering grief veiled behind your eyes

© 2.4.2016 heather brager