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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. 

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

by design.

they may have 
passed in the night
dreams, or nightmares
juxtaposed, oxygen
and carbon dioxide
swirling around their parted lips

he prefers to fly
under the radar
failing to understand that she
can see his beacon, and
feelings are loudest
spoken across space and time

they could create talismans
living poetry, growing out of
the summer sidewalk
she breathes into living things
his shadow is chasing, hungry fear
but she is starving


© 7.27.2016 heather brager

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

afternoon.

why should I even explain
how light crept
effortlessly through the
curtains, your unsettled breath
and sleeping limbs
hiding in plain sight
a beautiful and
unsolved enigma
held hostage in a vacuum




© 7.19.2016 heather brager

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

a truth, in poem format.


finger the distorted balance of
carefully breathing the same air
afraid to open the door, but
sitting close, with scars left
on your hearts and your arms by
years of unraveling, the pain of
re-stitching love back together
the night fire was drawn out of you
in thunderous blindness, a fierce dragon
with a propensity for resistance
when glass shattered, and once safe rooms
ignited with the blaze, in a
chapter that she has already read
she already knows where you have been
why you fuck in a hurry
and wait for a rabid breaking point,
but each justifiable choice
is a delicate line of poetry
a lyric that replays in your head
each compulsive mistake, the beautiful poison
that you both drank,
and lived to accept

© 7.13.2016 heather brager

Friday, July 8, 2016

shrive.

ask again what you were thinking 
the answers lie just beneath the skin,
waiting for permission

pause to consider the breeze 
beyond the windows,
twilight stretching and lying down 
across the living room rug 

as a witness to simplicity
leave your weapons outside the door
place your hands softly 

beneath the surface, before dawn 
beckon everything that was 
ever taken from you 
until the walls ache toward the sun


© 7.8.2016 heather brager