begin.

if I begin writing
poems for you, in the
endless string of moments
lurking in between,
while I stealthily
manipulate pessimism
while I attempt to pacify
the resuscitation of a
recovering and
abandoned, but ever
hopeful seer
in the moments we will
inevitably collide, two
worlds pressing closer than skin
if I am willing to say to you
what you are, instead
of what you are not.
when I begin writing
poems for you, will
you let the phrases
speak on my behalf,
pulling my face closer
by my hair, and taste the words
in my open mouth

© 6.19.2016 heather brager

sunday return.

you walked with him
to the street, another wet,
grey morning, and
his arms detained carefully, with
sparse words matted together
before the taxi arrived
for a blurry parting, nothing
like you fabricated.
the driver’s broken english, while
stroking a rosary, which swung from
the rearview mirror where
he snuck glances through you, and
you misheard him say
“he’s not the one” as you
latched your seatbelt
watching for signs along the way
arriving far too early, as
you usually do.

© 6.7.2016 heather brager

too much

please don't mistake our 

passion for need 

we've become the fathers 

who walked away

and the husbands 

we dreamed of marrying 

don't mistake our 

tenderness for weakness,

or our certainty 

for desperation 

if properly tended, our fire 

will awaken the dead

6.5.2016 heather brager 

augury.

there may come a day when loss

transforms into a field of swaying lavender

her backdrop a storm far out at sea

bravery bending down at the helm

pressing soaked against the wind

accepting forgiveness from the moon

pain is comprised of memories

the language of flowers decaying in a vase

dropping petals on the kitchen counter

cotton sheets and a softly bent arm

reaching for you to the patterns of

rain outside of the opened window

love is woven through everything

the skin on his cheek where

your finger traced while he slept

the intersection where you stood

when you realized you were hopelessly lost,

the moment you could breathe again

© 6.4.2016 heather brager

the common denominator.

when her eyes caught your gaze

on another rapid decline

you suspected the night would

likely not revert to stillness

in truth, latent thoughts would

seldom unfold that way again

*

her hips and their words

would grasp at your heart

with smoldering fingers

she would borrow your watch

from inside of the sea

and pending another departure

*

despite the slack obedience

to cyclical verdicts

she would jump through

revolving doors with a stranger

brandishing a propensity

for fastening universes together

© 6.2.2016 heather brager