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.