life without parole.

these promises are

run-on sentences to yourself

slinking through one ear

and out the other

the time you owe

constructed of inconsistencies

and regurgitated regret

how far you have come

in an effort to warrant

the quivering fabrications

that you refuse to own

slitting your own throat will

prove misfortune is hunting you down

armed and foaming at 

the mouth, clutching an 

already bloodied knife 

© 11.3.2014 heather brager  

parenting from the slow lane.

please stop panicking
the debate is broadcasted
what time is the bus


© 10.31.2014 heather brager 

excavation.

the house is quiet before dawn

ashes in the fireplace 

and remnants of dinner in the sink

tepid glass of diluted scotch on the coffee table

I reach out to touch the wilting flowers

coffee is beginning to brew while

I stoop and peer upward

millions of stars and the same black sky

for a moment I forget where I am

I am climbing a tree before sunrise

listening for the coyotes

I am 2300 miles away, running at 4:00 a.m.

icy air biting my face and  hands

I am driving 65 mph south to Boston

lost in the sea of banality

and the clock continues to tick

I check the time and exhale

the quarry is loneliness

as I pour your cup of coffee

I wonder if a light will be on upstairs

and why we try to kill each other

before we kill ourselves

© 10.27.2014 heather brager  

pisces.

in an epoch when

she is imprisoned under ice

radiance washes over her from

a leaden and silent expanse above

hair pouring outward

framing a pallid expression

no longer composed

of resistance and fear of flight

her life of faint sketches on pages

fingerprints near the exits

the collapsing words

of unwritten memoirs

dissipating into murky green

© 10.7.2014 heather brager  

when I am gone. (for Ag)

my writing has changed
like this body
and my mind.

I am a formula,
the evolution of
a work in progress

these memories of
birds, hands, skies
a field of grass.

the high plains are
vacant and impartial,
giant rock backdrops.

9.4.2014 heather brager

the red line.

the tempo is concord

searing air blasting 

the bodies

planning an upward escape

more than one man is lost,

an agitated woman acts like

a bystander, peering at

another man’s weary jowls,

a  reflection foreign

even to himself

slackened weight

and each dirty cog

ceaselessly revolving

propelling forward

and steadily upward

as daylight pours 

over them again

above ground

© 8.15.2014 heather brager 

enemy.

in the early morning, she is still missing.
the ache of failure had
swallowed her whole,
wiping its chin with the back
of a filthy hand

in the early morning, she is found dead.
dismembered fragments in a dark alley
next to a dumpster reeking of hell, but
she could not wake before
the truck came

some mornings she is still missing
she will return by the afternoon
fully clothed with hair shining
yellow sunlight will penetrate the atmosphere
smearing color on her pale arms and face


© 7.29.2014 heather brager