• Current Issues
  • Past Issues
    • Issue 1: Spring 2020
    • Issue 2: Summer 2020
    • Issue 3: Fall 2020
    • Issue 4: Winter 2020
    • Issue 5: Spring 2021
    • Issue 6: Summer 2021
    • Issue 7: Fall 2021
    • Issue 8: Winter 2021
    • Issue 9: Spring 2022
    • Issue 10: Summer 2022
    • Issue 11: Fall 2022
  • Intervals
  • Submit
    • Masthead
  • Contact
  • Trio House Press

Max Heinegg

Max Heinegg is the author of Good Harbor (2022), which won the inaugural Paul Nemser Prize from Lily Poetry Review. His work has appeared in 32 Poems, Thrush, Nimrod, The Cortland Review, and Love's Executive Order, among others. He lives and teaches English in Medford, MA, where he is the co-founder and brewmaster of Medford Brewing company, as well as a singer-songwriter and recording artist whose records can be heard at www.maxheinegg.com

Bioluminescence

By night, through dark mangroves,we match our strokes to the mild haunt of coquis and coconuts falling, following
our kids’ canoes & our old friends laughterat the guide’s mischievous invocation of Chupacabra! the vampirical goat-sucker,
keeping the darkness light. We pause in the center of Laguna Grande & drape the tarp over our tied vessels
to watch our wrists get gem-lit, protists spinning around strangeness, bothered into beauty by hands become iridescent gloves.
We hear they live five days, brightening but once a day, their last hours budding. The glint of cold light at agitation, gorgeous,
but there are ghosts in the glimmer near the lighthouse I read of in Espada’s “Alabanza,” honoring the restaurant workers in the tower.
Both blazed, remember. Yet after Maria killed the same number, we slept nights away, calm in the same country.
Technology made the lighthouse of Fajardo a legend the boatman is fine without, but we need to know what to do with this
brief light & how to respect its source. On the return, our children before us, our friend Daniel marvels they were only
yesterday speechless. I can tell he’s crestfallen at the way their need for him has changed. I scan the glitter, broken on the dark surface
& tell myself brevity is what shapes beauty. Consoled by a childhood lyric that somehow I glow with the astral,
but looking up, we find Orion risen in the hierarchy of light at a distance only a story can reach.

Subscribe

Thank you!

Error

Bad respond
Copyright © 2020-2023 Trio House Press, Inc.

We use cookies to enable essential functionality on our website, and analyze website traffic. By clicking Accept you consent to our use of cookies. Read about how we use cookies.

Your Cookie Settings

We use cookies to enable essential functionality on our website, and analyze website traffic. Read about how we use cookies.

Cookie Categories
Essential

These cookies are strictly necessary to provide you with services available through our websites. You cannot refuse these cookies without impacting how our websites function. You can block or delete them by changing your browser settings, as described under the heading "Managing cookies" in the Privacy and Cookies Policy.

Analytics

These cookies collect information that is used in aggregate form to help us understand how our websites are being used or how effective our marketing campaigns are.