still human.

for year after year, our pattern

is still driving with a flat

tire, somewhere south of

the metro, courage as diluted

as our clarity of the truth, and perhaps

for a moment, the clouds snap

into focus, backdrop shining sapphire,

sun spraying hope, and

with momentary breath, beauty
clings to the hood of the car, shining

a honey colored pool, though we

did not train our mind to

capture the tribute

© 7.17.2018 heather brager

less than.

the summer months are a

culmination of lines

blurred, memories become

an animal, I look to my hands to

study the lines on my face, a mirror

in several dimensions, I can see right

through each sensation

I am still longing for

imperfection, again or for the

first time, I  know the heaviness of

the air from august, we have come

nearly full circle and

still my palms know who you are

how often I wait

for the future

to catch up

so many times to start and stop.

I pause to read the hand I have

been dealt, peer into the same soul with

a different face, knowing I

have never been half. 

© 7.5.2018 heather brager

Untitled.

your hands left plum colored 

remnants. but not because you wanted 

to hurt me. we both cried about

your mother, but not because we 

hurt each other. you are so afraid, and 

you know that I could love you. you know 

I don’t understand, so please 

just remember me.