sometime in her 40s.

she imagines sultry or edgy
that he caught his breath in
that ugly vacillation in her step
in heels and a dress, but
never like that younger tramp

icy bitter and resentful
an oblivious iniquity
the shallows of understanding
saturating the surface layer
and drowning her in mediocrity

she reorganizes her image
amid a life of artificial crisis
wallowing in envy and
coveting singular moments
just waiting for that opportunity
to bang down her door


© heather brager 2.18.2011

not an option.

centered is futile

left or down, hardly balanced

holding the fulcrum

palms leveled even

waiting for changes or heat

left holding the bag

moments owe nothing

earth is hardwired for time

we find fair again

© heather brager 2.16.2011

for a.g.

the day will come
language cold as the ice
pelting winter panes
the sentences
will drift into
mountainous debris
and wreckage heaps
that require shovel
and slog
or springtime sun
to melt them away


© heather brager 2.3.2011

another winter day.

icy rhetoric

the air, a reverse vacuum

cutting a pale pelt

© heather brager 2.2.2011

(art by princesssfi via deviantart.com)

Rebuilding.

value need not be quantified

or serendipitous integrity justified, yet

as memories placate, seconds philandering

backward movement, chained close to the throat

and dna winding, haunting syllables resonate

parallel, out front and behind

a falsely advantageous structure of home, so

stones tumble with a glance, prospects lost and found

in a flashbulb burst, over-glorified

justification of perpendicular faults

as the fictitious foundations crumble

© 1.28.2011 heather brager

January in Minnesota.

gritty slush passes the ankles
a surge of wet indifference
thrusts of air through the cochlea
almost reminiscent of harmony

light filters cyclical malaise
monochromatic hues of white noise
dodging the slack and pulling taut
nearly reaching essential altitude

chinook winds press the western walls
a hasty recollection of salvation
foliage crawling under reconstruction
slow motion frames against the sky


© 1.17.2011 heather brager

Knowing.

I used to breathe
in counting one, lengthening
and filling starved lungs
out on three, freeing my flesh of demons
clinging to my cilia

I used to sleep
ceiling to floor, cradling unconscious worry
releasing the irreverence
etched across the walls of
my sodden, swollen eyelids

I used to draw
randomly flocking, fractions of souls
shine and longing within their eyes
liberating my fingers of fret
clutching empty transformation

I used to know
much less of the workings of my mind
of the valves of my mechanical heart
the rasping and weary
measurement of my broken stride


© 1.3.2011 heather brager




the river. original pencil drawing by heather brager. 2009.