A Tree Called Sacred cont'd
Much later, I was brought to Europe,
where I was taken up eagerly.
I gave birth to penniless universities,
flowed in coffee salons of Enlightenment thought.
Abducted by the Dutch, I was smuggled
through the Arab port of Mocha
and spirited away to their colony in Java.
Road through a coffee plantation in East Java from All About Coffee.
I do not do well in high winds, full sun, or pools of water.
My roots breathe and need air.
If you can care for camellia,
you can care for me.
I bloom small white flowers with a jasmine-like fragrance
that spreads sweet and heavy like musk.
My arms yield clusters of dark red berries
dressed in silverskins. I am seductive.
My earthy scent is irresistible. In the morning,
I crawl next to your sleeping body.
You wake, anticipating my taste.
You hunger for me,
willingly open your mouth,
press me to your lips, and
like liquid gold, I slip inside
and run lightening quick
through your veins.
*the Divine Goodness, from one of the earliest Arabic poems about coffee, 1511