Thrush Poetry Journal
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Max Heinegg
​

Raspberry
 
This is what I left the city for—​
a sight to soak in, the ah 
in yard, a pint in a palmful, 
the fruit that grows itself.  
 
In summer, when they sit
heavy, loose to the touch, 
I yield to ants that drag a crown off,
& wait until a thin pinkie can 
don the knit pink hat, then focus 
& get at the fractal of 
 
drupelet a fat lip, 
level an igloo’s row, 
sepal a present’s bow,
peduncle a bristling
 
the tongue plays lazy 
pestle to, molars for 
mortar. Seeds bitter- 
sweet as the month is 
plucked. One, not done.



 
Max Heinegg is a high school English teacher, brewer, and singer-songwriter who lives in Medford, MA. He has been a finalist for the poetry prizes of Asheville Poetry Review, Crab Creek Review, Cultural Weekly, Cutthroat, December Magazine, Nazim Hikmet, Rougarou, and Twyckenham Notes. His records can be heard at www.maxheinegg.com




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