Deborah Ager

Deborah Ager Poems

Rain drenches the patio stones.
All night was spent waiting
for an earthquake, and instead

The yard half a yard,
half a lake blue as a corpse.
The lake will tell things you long to hear:
get away from here.


An Airedale rolling through green frost,
cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves

We are what we repeatedly do.

You know how it is waking


Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.

The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim

The factory siren tells workers time to go home
tells them the evening has begun.
When living with the tall man

They tell me that your heart
has been found in Iowa,
pumping along Interstate 35.
Do you want it back?

When I knew, it was raining.
Winter in decline. I was tired.
You in your soaked shirt diffused
into the western sky bulging with clouds,

Deborah Ager Biography

Deborah Ager is an American poet. Life Ager founded the poetry magazine known as 32 poems or 32 Poems Magazine in 2003 with the poet John Poch. She was educated at the University of Maryland (B.A.) and the University of Florida (M.F.A.). Her writing has appeared in New England Review, The Georgia Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Los Angeles Review, Barn Owl, North American Review, and Best New Poets 2006. She has received fellowships and/or scholarships from the MacDowell Colony, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, the Atlantic Center for the Arts, the Mid Atlantic Arts Foundation. She was a Walter E. Dakin fellow at the Sewanee Writers' Conference as well as a Tennessee Williams Scholar. Her manuscript, Midnight Voices, was a semifinalist for the A. Poulin, Jr. Poetry Prize in 2007 before being accepted for publication by Cherry Grove Collections. In 2011, she edited the poetry anthology Poetry Doesn't Need You with the poet John Poch and scholar Bill Beverly. The book is forthcoming in 2012.)

The Best Poem Of Deborah Ager

Night: San Francisco

Rain drenches the patio stones.
All night was spent waiting
for an earthquake, and instead

water stains sand with its pink foam.
Yesterday's steps fill in with gray crabs.
Baritone of a fog horn. A misty light

warns tankers, which block the green
after-sunset flash. My lover's voice calls
to others in his restless sleep.

The venetian blinds slice streetlights,
light coils around my waist and my lover's neck,
dividing him into hundredths.

Would these fractions make me happier?
My hands twist into a crocodile.
My index finger the tooth that bites

Gauguin's Tahiti. My thumb is the head feather
of a California quail crying chi-ca-go.
Night barely continues. Is this the building

staying still? Is this hand the scorpion
that will do us in? A few of Irving Street's
sycamores will blue the air come morning.

Deborah Ager Comments

Loser 27 March 2018

you're moma gay

1 2 Reply
John Doe 15 March 2017

look at dis dudeeeeeeee

3 5 Reply
John Doe 15 March 2017

ya'll all look like sum nasta pigssssss look at dis dude X.X

3 5 Reply

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