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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. 

Monday, August 29, 2016


she is a concept
laundry hanging out to dry
the sun will rise soon

she’s an idea
always awake before dawn
watching the black bird

she will bend the rules
forgive you before you stop

a bird in the hand

© 8.29.2016 heather brager

Sunday, August 28, 2016

just another fairytale.

you are familiar with the
backdrop of inky woods
a place you have knelt before
redemption on your palms
branches bent under the 
weight of knowing a
path urgently erased into
the darkness by 
an unseen hand

over your shoulder the
wolves are coming
their cries of battle
and savage hunger
you already know
fear is what they smell
and she needed you once
to be her guide
and her protector
the journey that trailed off 
beyond your line of sight

and now you turn to watch 
an unwavering and 
wanton creature
standing alone  
with her back straight 
a face asking for love
from the sinking sun
hands reaching out
ready to join the pack

© 8.28.2016 heather brager

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Tuesday morning.

late at 8:42 a.m., past neon construction workers watching my dress
someone shouts over the jackhammer, all I hear is “baby” but I ignore them
smiling at my phone because you sent another adorable text
shortcut through the projects, my forgotten purse on the kitchen counter
naked and abandoned baby doll smudged with grime
the child probably lost sleep and there she lies, alone by the dumpster
past the men smoking cigarettes while speaking french creole
I begin to walk into the street and glance up at the line of pigeons
there’s a slight chance they will shit on me just as I pass
so I hustle past the edge of the building, tipping my sunglasses onto my head
past the boys in the entry way who pretend that I’m not there
all staring at their smart phones, into the building, then the mollifying
good morning, good morning, how are you today, m’am
fine, thank you, and you, and sometimes I’d prefer to be fucking invisible

© 8.23.2016 heather brager


you dream of waking
bodies of undefined centuries
juxtaposed wreckage and
collocated promises 
in broken softness
in your mouths,
poetry bending grief and hope
spellbound and shattered,
language pulling your weight
down to her, the composition
of birds in flight

© 8.20.2016 heather brager

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


have I fallen
for you like
a dead oak
moss and
stillness about
my limbs
blanketed dew
pressing my bark
a pithy core
bittered by age
or sweetened
by ripening

© 8.17.2016 heather brager

Thursday, August 4, 2016

this august.

9:47 p.m.

she overlooked the late arrival
listened to the couple, droning mindlessly
at an adjacent table
fingerprints in the condensation
on her cocktail glass
high heels, legs, hope and stained lips

were they coming, or going
the subtle suggestion, shrugged off to be
hung by potential regret
a few more sips and laughter, this is nice
politics, hands, lips, her hips
soaked and groping for air

the unmistakable gentleness
reading minds and surveying
intently for clues in a
puzzle, a homecoming, a stretch
far beyond something mediocre
a beginning, or a conclusion

2:18 a.m.

© 8.4.2016 heather brager