St. Joe’s altars in New Orleans have a pile of abundancethat’s been sitting out for too long it’s best notto eat it I wonder what to do with my angerwhen it’s been sitting out for too long I feel fullfrom love today a kind of trinitarian Liebe I woke upstartled from a dream that a man I hadloved loved me and wrote the word three times in an email:Liebe. Liebe. Liebe.I never got the email.He sent it to an address I had for some fifteen odd yearsan account that a spambot attacked and I deleted andis now owned by someone in Crimea who may or may notpretend to be me one day but isn’t fun fact: if you get an e-mailfrom email@example.com even though for years it was meit’s not me fun fact: if you send an e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org though for years I would read it I won’t I can’t.In the dream the man I had loved was telling my sisterthat he wanted to committo some one some thing. He was married. Dear Readerto be honest I don’t know if he really loved me he told me oncethe word Liebe is so much stronger than what we mean in Englishby love but then he said in his way that he loved me andI’d like to think he did. I did. Love him and finallyam no longer ashamedby the spear that pierced my fleshI did not ask but was given
Copyright © 2021 by Kathleen Heil.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Kathleen Heil is an artist working with languages of the body and the written word. Her poetry, fiction, and translations appear in The New Yorker, StoryQuarterly, Two Lines, The Common, and elsewhere. Kathleen’s work has been supported by the German Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and the Media (DIS-TANZ dance/performance grant), the U.S. National Endowment for the Arts (literary translation grant), the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation (archives research travel grant), and the Berlin Senate Department (poetry grant), among others. More at kathleenheil.net.
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