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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. 

Thursday, June 22, 2017

jagged little pills.



the wreckage has been surveyed
many times over, an itinerary carefully
deleted, line by resonant line
the dark ring inside yesterday’s porcelain
cup left on the kitchen
counter, diluted bourbon on
the bedside table next to the Ativan

when did we learn that love was
currency, attention meager
crumbs for starving
beasts, when did we misplace our
own fragile beauty with remnants
of shattered hope and reconstructed
dishes, following each tragedy

you divert your eyes but demand
to be seen, cry out but desire
solitude behind walls you built, but
they will not keep you safe from the
ghosts you have protected
within your rib cage, the terror that
runs you until shadows swallow hard



© 6.22.2017 heather brager


Rafael Duarte Más.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

windsor street.

as I stoop to pick up a 
tarnished penny, time collapses
I am a funeral’s pace, fingers slowly 
scraping the pavement,
hair falling forward in a 
fluid motion, gently
stroking the back of 
my freckled hand

from behind my eyes I 
am watching, blurred sparrows stealing 
crumbs from beside the curb, a bus stop
woman fanning herself with a 
crumpled magazine, I am
peering across the baked-hot parking lot at 
myself, an anonymous woman, lost 
and still losing, a little girl finding
a treasure among discarded
wrappers, next to an empty whiskey bottle


© 6.20.2017 heather brager


Tuesday, June 13, 2017

your lexicon.


my heart is unraveling  
the symbiosis, while you
are writing a melody
in the shape of endings with
words resonating to the corners
slipping through hidden
cracks in the foundation
meeting my humid dawn
with nothing at all. 


© 6.13.2017 heather brager







Monday, June 5, 2017

edit, ad nauseam.


 
oh lover, please
domesticate this lonely
little ego
she’s been waiting
for your hands and
your fingers
to become
tangled in her hair
she’s been waiting
up late into
each night, aching
for your
admiration
your shimmering,
silver tongued
praise

please, take this
scantily clad poem
in all of its
vulnerable nakedness
slide it slowly across
your tongue
licking
every
last
word away
oh, sweet amylase,
this malaise
reduces her to
a complex technical
process


© 6.5.2017 heather brager

Julia Randall.