Today at breakfast
Sister Mary has pulled out from her cupboard
A blue box filled with crispy crosses –
edible rice bran
the color of amethyst Trix.
She pours the milk over
her wholesome “t’s” and watches them float
miniature crosses buoyant on a purple sea,
the envy of all Carmelites.
Sister bows her head and prays over
her tiny morsels, each
infinitesimal snap, crackle and pop,
giving thanks for some rangy white-haired Diva
back in Rome whom they’ve named