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
Return to March 2020 Edition
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
Return to March 2020 Edition