The Consecration Of Coffee

    to Archbishop Oscar A. Romero

One day of god
drinking coffee in my patio
nothing is normal—
    not the calla
    with its penis of gold
    nor the iris
    like purple lava
    a volcano spills.
I find in the depths of the cup
chasubles embroidered
with black moths
& red stains—
    the sun fires
    a scintillation of silver bullets
    & of candles drowned—
        there is blood in its shine.
I place the cup on its saucer
with a most tender care
as if it were a chalice
& say the litany:
        Guatemala
        Nicaragua
        El Salvador
& one side of my heart
tastes white & sweet
like cane sugar
    & the other,
        like coffee,
            bitter & black.