The last time I was here on Calvary

it was San Cristobal, Colombia,

with campesinos, drinking their coffee

saccharine against bitterness in a

bean that stains, shapes and, sometimes, saves their hands.

There was piety and fish-fry parties,

via cruces, long pilgrimages and

a slap-dash church erected in the three

room school, which went in and out of power.

I heard confessions and accusations

in equal shares.  Finally a tower

of a cross, with some exasperation,

was raised up and perilously planted.

This people, please God, never abandon.